I watch his shoulders. The way they're set. The way he's not letting himself turn around.
"Hawk."
"Yeah."
"Look at me."
He turns. His face is closed. I've never seen it closed before. Not at me. He's worn it for other people, for Parker on the phone, for the world that lives past his tree line. Not for me.
My stomach drops an inch.
"You were going to let me get in a truck at noon and drive away without saying anything."
"I was going to say plenty."
"Such as."
"Such as take care of yourself. Call if you need anything. Parker can reach me."
"Parker can reach you."
"Delilah."
"No."
I stand. Bad call on the ankle. I grip the table edge and hold my ground anyway.
"You are not going to do the thing you are about to do."
"What thing."
"The thing where you decide for both of us that I'm better off in a city with my notebook and my samples and a life that doesn't include a man who lives at the end of a fire road. The thing where you tell yourself I was grateful, not in love. The thing where you put your face the way you've got it right now and pretend the last eight days were a protection detail."
His jaw works.
"They were a protection detail."
"Don't."
"That's what they started as."
"I'm aware of how they started, Hawk."
"You got stranded on a slope. You didn't choose this."
"I'm choosing it now."
"You think that. Right now. Standing in my kitchen with adrenaline still coming out of your body."
"Adrenaline."
"You've been here a week. You haven't seen your life in a week. You've seen me and this cabin and a dog that's decided you're his and you think that's something. In three weeks you'll be in a lab somewhere analyzing core samples and you'll look back at this and you'll be embarrassed."
"Embarrassed."
"Grateful, maybe. Mostly embarrassed."
My throat closes.
