Page 126 of The Goat Next Door

I drop Sophie off at Nana’s house for dinner, not giving her an explanation beyond a promise that I’ll be back before bedtime, and I drive toward our road.

I pull into my driveway, kill the lights, and step out into the quiet evening.

The farmhouse is dark except for the single, warm yellow light over the kitchen island.

I walk across the lawn, the distance between our properties disappearing with every step.

I reach her porch. I knock gently, push the screen door open and step inside, the wood clicking shut behind me with a familiar, easy sound.

Ember turns around from the counter, her mug halfway to her mouth. She sets the ceramic cup down on the marble, her eyes tracking my movement as I walk into the kitchen, my boots leaving a damp track on her clean floorboards.

“The floor was clean,” she says.

“I’ll mop it,” I say, stopping exactly two feet away from her.

I look down at her face. The flour-dusted pencil is gone, her curls hanging loose around her shoulders, looking soft against the gray wool of her sweater.

“What are you doing here, Brooks?”

“I’m not a statue, Ember,” I say, my voice rough. “I’m a man who spent five years being terrified that if I let myself look at someone the way I look at you, the universe would find a way to punish me for it. I thought keeping my life small meant keeping Sophie safe. I thought keeping you away meant I wouldn’t have to face the fact that this job can break a house in half.”

I reach out my hand, my fingers hesitating for a fraction of a second before I press my palm flat against the wood of the counter right next to her hip, boxing her in just enough that she can feel the heat radiating off my uniform.

“But I was wrong,” I whisper. “The house is already broken, Ember. It’s been broken since Friday because you aren’t in it. I don’t want a risk-free life if it means I have to watch you look through me like I’m a stranger. I want the mess. I want the yellow porch. I want the glitter in the living room. I want you.”

Ember stares up at me, her breath hitching, her lips parting slightly as she listens to the words. She looks at my hand on the counter, then back up to my face.

“Not the easy version. Not the cheerful version. You, specifically. Loud mouth. Glitter. Chaos. All of it,” I continue. “I want the parts of you that take up space.”

She folds her arms tightly across her chest, using her own elbows as a barrier between us.

“That’s a very good speech, Brooks,” she says. “But you don’t get to just decide you’re ready now and expect me to have no memory of how easy it was for you to leave me.”

I feel the sting of her words right in my gut, but I don’t draw back. I stay exactly where I am, keeping the space tight between us, showing her I can handle the heat she’s throwing back at me.

“I don’t expect you to forget it,” I say, my voice dropping lower, holding her gaze without blinking. “I know I have to earn it back. I know I have to show you every single day that I’m not going to run when things get hard. I’m not asking you to forgive me tonight, Ember. I’m just telling you that I’m standing here, and I’m going to keep standing here.”

Ember looks down at my boots, then back up to my eyes, her expression unreadable. She takes a slow, deep breath, her shoulders rising under the gray wool.

“I’m going to finish my tea now,” she says, though she doesn’t move to pick up the mug.

“Okay,” I say.

I take my hand off the counter, stepping back just enough to give her the room she’s asking for, but I don’t go toward the door.

I walk over to the small wooden chair by her kitchen table, pull it out, and sit down. I lean my back against the frame, fold my arms, and just watch her.

Ember watches me sit, her eyebrows lifting slightly in surprise, but she doesn’t tell me to leave. She just turns back to the counter, picks up her ceramic mug with both hands, and takes a slow sip, her eyes staring out into the dark through the glass.

33

Ember

“Sunny with a high chance of someone making a scene.”

— Local weather report

Brooks is currently sitting on my second-best kitchen chair.