The words hit me somewhere I’m not prepared for. Somewhere deep and soft and unprotected.
“Anya,” I say, and I keep my voice steady even though my chest is cracking. “I would love to stay. Can I grab a pillow and a blanket and sleep on the couch?”
She blinks in surprise.
“You — you want to?”
“I really want to. That couch looks super comfy.”
It does not. It’s a small settee upholstered in velvet that will accommodate approximately eighty percent of my body, but I’ve slept on worse. I’ve slept on a hospital chair next to my father’s bed for three nights straight. A short velvet couch is a luxury by comparison.
Anya nods. A small, careful nod.
“I’ll be right back.”
I go to my room to grab my pillow and the blanket from the end of my bed. On the way back, I pass the hallway and halt.
I think about the way he appeared in that kitchen without making a noise, the way he stood behind me close enough to feel but not touch, the way he left without a word.
I think,What kind of man moves like that?
And then I stop thinking, because Anya is waiting for me.
When I come back, she’s sitting up straighter, sipping the chocolate, and her posture has changed. She’s still small, but the tight, desperate curl of her body has loosened.
I arrange myself on the settee. It’s as uncomfortable as I predicted, but I tuck the blanket around my legs and fluff the pillow.
“Perfect. See? Five-star accommodations.”
She almost smiles. I’ve never managed a full, bright, open smile, but we’re getting close.
Anya finishes the chocolate and carefully places the mug on her nightstand with both hands.
“Ellie?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.” A pause. “For the chocolate.”
I can catch the meaning beneath her words.Thank you for coming. Thank you for not making me ask. Thank you for staying when you didn’t have to.
“You’re welcome, sweetheart. Anytime.”
She lies down and pulls the duvet up before facing the door.
Within five minutes, her breathing slows.
I lie on the velvet couch, stare at the ceiling, and think about my life.
I think about my father and the nights he came home late, smelling of whiskey, cigarette smoke, and loss. When I’d pretend to be asleep, and he’d stand in my doorway and whisper,I’m sorry, Ellie-belly. I’ll do better tomorrow.About the chocolate, and how it tasted the same tonight as it always does, and how some recipes carry people in them even after those people are gone.
My mind keeps returning to the debt, the payment Landon adjusted to remind me that he can do anything, anytime.
Then it drifts over to Rolan, who appeared and disappeared in the kitchen, as if he had never been there in the first place, and the way he stayed close enough to feel but not to touch.
The heat of his chest near my back. The moment his arm reached past me and the air between us turned thick and charged and alive.
His eyes gazing at me.
