His hand stays in my hair a second too long.
Not long enough.
I feel the flex of his fingers before he pulls them back.
I see my Bowen look at me from the man’s face. Eyes searching and as familiar as the touch had been. He’s looking like he’s remembering someone he used to reach for and isn’t sure it's actually me.
“Hey, Boe?” I say softly.
The muscles in his neck look tense, and he swallows hard enough I hear it. “What?”
“It’s raining.”
Like my statement is the key to unlocking the storm clouds, what was a steady drizzle quickly turns into a downpour. Bowen looks at my smirking lips before pushing up and looking around, cursing.
I watch him gather the power tools first, tucking them to his chest and moving to the shed. Then I get up to help. The ground turns to mud fast with the rain and our feet pounding over the space, and by the time, we’re done my sandals are filled with mud, and I grimace with every squishy step.
Bowen snatches me up by the elbow when I slip in one of his big boot prints. Then his hand hovers on my lower back as we make it around to the front of the cabin and up the steps.
“Thanks,” I murmur. The air feels cooler already. Judging by the clouds and the distant roll of thunder, it looks like we’re in for a while. Bowen pulls a tattered looking towel from the outdoor bin tucked into the corner that used to hold sunscreen and lake toys. He runs it over his head, black curls once again wet and hanging loosely around his broad shoulders. His expression is both intense and closed off.
A ringing breaks the moment.
He pulls his phone out of his back pocket and barely flicks his eyes up to me as he flings the towel my way.
“Don’t track that mud inside,” is what he says before answering the phone and pushing the door open to get inside.
I hate that him leaving has the ability to take away the breath of life I felt just moments ago. I dry my own head, kick off my sandals, and wipe the grime from my feet. I hesitate with my hand on the doorknob, thunking my forehead to the cool surface.
His deep voice makes its way to me, even over the sound of the rain. I only catch fragments. “I’m good.” And “You don’t have to come, D.”
It’s enough.
I push the door open, and it closes with a soft click behind me. Bowen is placing logs of wood in the fireplace, holding the phone with his free hand.
“Tell Delaney I say hi,” I say. I don’t wait around for a response; instead, I scurry like a spooked field mouse to my room. This door closes with a much louder click behind me.
You don’t have to come, D.
Delaney. The barrage of feelings that hit me just thinking of her, of them, is ridiculous.
No. Fucking stop it. Right now.
The wood is smooth under my palms, and I splay my fingers wide on the surface behind me. At least I can’t hear him anymore in here. Small mercies.
I give myself long enough for three deep breaths before I move into the room and gather stuff for a shower. It’s quiet in the cabin when I walk across to the bathroom.
Quiet when I walk out on a billow of steam.
I find Bowen in the living room with two bowls in front of him on the coffee table, scrolling through Netflix by the looks of it. The massive TV over the fireplace is definitely new.
“Does my dad know you took down the wall of stuffed animal heads to hang a TV?”
“Man caves have advanced. It’s twenty twenty-five, not nineteen eighty-five.” He pauses on a movie long enough for the preview to autostart in the corner. Something explodes, car flips.
He presses play, and it’s so predictable, I roll my eyes towards the ceiling. But before the beginning credits can start, there is a loud boom, and all the lights and TV snap off.
Bowen tilts his head back against the couch and groans.
