She must hear my movement, stiffening before she spins around. “Oh.”
Her eyes are red-rimmed, mascara smudged down her cheeks. She wipes at her face, like she can erase the evidence if she’s fast enough.
But I already saw.
And I can’t walk away and pretend I didn’t.
“C’mere.” I open my arms. “What happened?”
“Nothing. I’m fine.” She wraps her arms around herself. “How was the game? I didn’t think you’d be home yet.”
I’m not surprised by her deflection.
“Starling.”
She shakes her head. Won’t look at me.
“Come here.” I keep my arms open, waiting. I’ll stand here all night if I have to.
“I’m a mess. I’ll get snot on your shirt,” she says through hitched breaths.
“I don’t care.”
When she doesn’t move, I step closer and pull her to me. Her arms fold awkwardly between us, and she presses her forehead to my chest. But her muscles stay tight under my hands.
“Is this okay?” I check.
I haven’t hugged her since Christmas. Three weeks ago. Twenty-four days, if I’m counting. Living in the same house, orbiting each other, maintaining the careful distance we agreed on.
It hasn’t gotten any easier.
I hate that she’s upset. But I’d be lying if I said part of me wasn’t grateful for the excuse to hold her again.
She nods, then finally melts into me. The tension leaves her body as she loops her arms around my middle and clings to my back.
Her breath catches. Her lashes flutter. My shirt grows damp beneath her cheek. I press my lips to the top of her head and keep her close through it all.
This is new territory for me. I don’t stick around long enough for the messy parts. But with Summer, I want to.
I want her sunshine and her storms.
Eventually, her breathing evens out, and she pulls back, eyes still red but dry.
“Let’s sit.” I guide her to the couch.
I want to pull her onto my lap. I want her curled into me, her mouth at my neck, her breath hot on my skin. But I settle for turning toward her as she takes the cushion next to me.
Her lip trembles. Not quite a smile, but trying for one.
Grace takes her other side, nose nudging Summer’s elbow like she wants to make her feel better, too.
“Talk to me. What happened?”
“Boone…” Her chest rises on an uneven inhale. “He’s losing patience with me. And he’s right. I have more to give, but I can’t get to it.”
I reach out, thumb brushing away a tear still clinging to her cheek.
She follows the movement, her eyes tracking my hand as it drops back to my lap. Then she looks up at me through damp lashes. “What if I put everything I have into this and it’s still not enough? What ifI’mnot enough?”
