“God, Lucy,” I say.
She relents, nuzzling underneath my chin. She nudges me with her nose until I continue petting her. With an eye roll, I do. She sighs in contentment, and I feel my heartrate slow. I scooch her out of my neck and kiss the top of her head. It’s in this slight head tilt that I notice someone standing at my feet.
Adelaide.
She is a vision in teal, cheetah printed biker shorts. They cling to her body, with the briefest note of her hipbones poking against the fabric. She clutches the strap of her tote bag, frozen with one foot lifted, as if she’s hesitant to come any closer. Asmirk plays out on her lips, painted a light shade of peach today, and I know I haven’t lost her fully, yet.
“Hey,” I say, barely above a whisper. One of her hands moves from the strap and waves. “Do you want to sit?”
Lucy takes this opportunity to move her full weight off me. She calmly sashays away from me, only her wildly swinging fluffy tail betrays her true mood. She plants her nose against Adelaide’s knee and nudges. Adelaide huffs out a laugh and pats Lucy’s head.
“Yeah, I’ll sit,” she says and crouches down next to me.
She runs her hands along her legs, drawing them to her chest, then shrinks into her oversized sweatshirt. Her hands disappear into the sleeves. I slowly raise into a seated position, mirroring her movements. She doesn’t look at me. Her gaze stays fixed on the ripples blowing through the pond. Lucy settles in between us.
“Did you make that?” I ask.
“What?” She turns to me. The spark is gone from her eyes.
“The sweater. The embroidery on it.”
“Oh,” she says, glancing down at the goose front and centre on her chest. She bites her lower lip as her cheeks go pink. “I did. I didn’t intentionally—didn’t realize when I put it on this morning.”
“I’m sorry.”
This shocks her. She blinks at me and shakes her head.
I exhale, unsure what to say. I fidget with a pocket on my shorts as I mull over the words. I open my mouth to start three times, but nothing comes out. No matter how many times I’ve told the story publicly, even though I have it written out in a best-selling memoir, this part never gets easier.
Adelaide’s hands cover mine. She unsnarls my fingers and twines ours together.
“Zander, it’s okay. What are you sorry for?”
“Myself,” I say then fully cringe.Way to be dramatic, dude.“Sorry.” I laugh. “Sorry for being so awkward. I just—someone said something, right? Something I should apologize for?”
Her eyes flick between mine and our joined hands. “I mean, I guess. I guess I don’t really know what it is, though. Most of what I’ve heard has been vague and, I know it’s bad, I do, but part of me doesn’t recognize the man they’re all warning me about in you.”
I let this sit. I should have expected Beaver Creek to gossip about me. I fly under the radar when I’m with Gran, under some impression she keeps me in check. But I’d unknowingly started courting a Castor. The town is obviously going to have something to say about that. I’m just too fucking stupid to realize this straight up. I should have quit before I even started.
Lucy harrumphs as a rabbit crosses our path. I track its movements to the gazebo, where it shimmies in through a gap in the latticing around the bottom. My eyes stay trained to the spot while I listen to Addie’s calm breathing.
“I should have expected that.” I grimace. Squeeze her hand. “Sorry to put you through that.”
“It’s okay.”
“Why didn’t you look me up? I thought you stalked my profile. This town knows my story, obviously. I’m just surprised you don’t.”
“I guess I’m not that professional of a stalker,” she says, and her eyes dance. “Which is a lie. I stalk for a living. When I looked at your page, I just wanted to see you. It’s your memoir, right? I didn’t look it up. I didn’t want to see the internet’s opinion. I don’t want your story from other people. I want it from you.”
“Okay. Here I am. Before I forget,” I say, grabbing her iced coffee, “I got this for you. It’s not poisoned or drugged or anything, if you’re worried.”
Her lips press together in a sad little smile. “I wasn’t.”
I try not to let myself jump at this platitude. She could very easily lose trust in me by the end of this conversation. She brings the coffee to her lips and takes a sip. I see the idea take form before she actually puts it into action and find myself laughing when she slips her hands from mine and starts clutching at her throat.
“Sorry,” she says through a giggle. “It was too tempting. Figured you might need the tension broken, as well.”
“Thank you,” I say. I lower my hand onto Lucy’s back and Adelaide does the same. Our fingers touch and I swear it feels like a spark shoots up my entire arm. We don’t move away. “I’d like to know what you’ve heard.”
