“Aye,” I laugh. “Noted.”
Her finger jabs the air in my direction. “And next time,” she continues, shaking her finger for emphasis, “don’t make me play referee, okay? You’ve got to give us more of a heads-up before you go all ‘silent sufferer’ mode.”
Just then, Knox pokes his head into the kitchen. “Hey, you two gossiping hens, are we eating tonight or what?”
“Keep your kilt on!” Bree quips, winking at me. “We’re almost done here.”
Just as I slide the tart into the oven, my phone buzzes in the back pocket of my jeans.
My fingers are suddenly useless as I fumble for it, nearly knocking the oven mitt to the floor in my scramble, but when I glance at the screen, my heart skips.
I look up, breath caught in my throat. Bree’s brows lift in question, but she reads the answer on my face before I say a word.
Her expression softens. She nudges the oven shut behind me and gives a little wave of her hand. “Go,” she mouths. “Take it.”
I dart into the hallway, heart kicking up as the kitchennoise fades behind me. Relief hits first, like I can finally breathe, but it tangles with a rush of nerves and a flicker of excitement that makes my steps too fast. I answer the second I’m out of earshot.
“Hello?” My voice comes out in a whisper.
There’s a beat of silence. A quiet exhale. Then, “Hey, Lucy.”
It’s only two words, but the sound of his voice knocks the air right out of me. Deep, rough, and achingly familiar. My eyes sting, stupidly, my body finally catching up to everything my heart’s been holding in.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “Things got complicated out here. I didn’t mean to go quiet.”
I lean back against the wall, my free hand fidgeting with the hem of my shirt, the fabric twisting between my fingers. Bree’s words echo in my mind, urging me to be direct, to stop letting things fester in silence.
“I was worried,” I admit softly.
The silence on the other end drags. When he finally speaks, his voice is remorseful. “I should’ve called sooner.”
I nod, even though he can’t see me. “I just…I started to wonder if you’d changed your mind. If I’d made all of it up in my head.” My lungs squeeze, the words catching. “Mostly, I didn’t know if you were safe.”
“No, Lucy. God, no.” His response is immediate, adamant. “I’m okay, and you haven’t misread a thing.”
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. “Okay.”
“I’m so fucking bad at this,” he continues, the frustration in his tone clear now. “Especially when I’m out here. I haven’t stopped thinking about you. I didn’t mean to make you doubt that.”
I close my eyes, letting those words settle.
“I missed your voice,” I admit.
He groans. “Don’t say that unless you want me on the next damn chopper off this rig.”
A soft laugh escapes me. “I happen to know of two ladies who wouldn’t complain.”
“Don’t tempt me,” he grumbles, but there’s a hint of a smile in it now. “I’d jump into the North Sea if it got me home faster.”
I huff out a laugh, pressing my palm against my chest as if I can suppress the fluttering inside. We can joke all we want, but the fact is, we still have a lot of important stuff to talk about.
“Aidan?”
“Yeah,” he says. “I’m here.”
I chew on the inside of my cheek, mulling over my words. “I don’t need constant texts or hour-long calls. I know you’re busy out there, but if we’re doing this—whatever this is—we need to talk when you get back. Like,reallytalk. About what we want, or if we’re even trying for something here.”
Wow. Go me. I actually said it.
