Chapter 7
MAYA
By the time I pulled into the driveway, my brain had been running laps for the better part of an hour.
The quad bike. His hands on my hips. The way he’d laughed, actually laughed, when I’d cracked a joke about tunnels to the Earth’s core. And then, just as quickly, his face had shuttered again, tension creeping back into his shoulders like it had never left.
I cut the engine and sat there for a second, hands loose on the wheel, staring at nothing, my mind full of Nate.
Next door, a truck pulled into the driveway. It had barely come to a stop when the back doors flew open and two little girls tumbled out in a blur of blonde pigtails and high-pitched chatter.
Emily and Cam climbed out at a much slower pace. Emily grabbed the younger one just before she fell over her own feet.
Laughing, she said, “Whoa, girls, slow down.”
She was technically still my housemate, but ever since she’d fallen head over heels for our hot, grumpy neighbor, she spent most of her time at his place. Her gaze met mine through the windshield, and her whole face lit up. “Hey, you.”
I grabbed my bag and climbed out. “Hey.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong.”
“Your face says otherwise.”
“My face is fine.”
Emily’s eyes narrowed. “Your face is absolutely not fine. I’m coming over.”
She turned to Cam, rising onto her toes to press a kiss to his lips. He caught her around the waist with his free hand, pulling her in closer. The look he gave her was so soft and unguarded I had to turn away.
“Take your time,” he said, his voice low and meant for her.
She kissed him one more time, then crossed the lawn to meet me.
Falling into step beside me, she followed me to the front door. “Just to clarify, your face is doing that thing where you look like you’re solving a math problem you didn’t ask for.”
I shoved my key in the lock. “That’s weirdly specific.”
“And weirdly accurate. Am I right?”
Once inside, Emily headed straight to the kitchen. She dragged the fridge door open and pointed at me. “Go shower. You smell like dirt and existential crisis. I’ll make us something to eat.”
“I don’t smell like existential crisis.”
“You absolutely do. It has a very distinct aroma. Go.”
I went.
The shower helped. Hot water, the good shampoo, ten minutes of standing under the spray and letting the day sluice off me. By the time I stepped out in sweats and a tank top, hair damp and twisted up in a clip, the kitchen smelled like garlic and butter.
Emily had thrown together a pasta, quick and simple, and two glasses of white wine. She slid a bowl toward me as I dropped onto a seat at the small, round kitchen table.
“Eat. Talk. In that order, or simultaneously.”
I twirled my fork through the pasta, took a bite, and let out a sound that was borderline indecent. “God, that’s good.”
“I know. Now talk.”
I chewed slowly, buying time. Emily waited, because Emily was annoyingly patient when it mattered.
“Nate showed up at the falls today.”
Her eyebrows rose. “At the park?”
“Mm hm. Said he was walking. Clearing his head.”
“Okaaay. And?”
“And he stayed. Helped me dig post holes for like an hour. We talked. It was...” I searched for the word. “Normal. Almost. Like, there were moments where it felt easy, the way it used to be.”
Emily’s expression was careful. “But?”
I set my fork down, reaching for my wine.
“There’s something going on with him. I don’t know what, but he’s carrying something heavy.
It’s written all over his face. And then he’d crack a joke or almost smile, and it would disappear for a second, and then.
..” I took a sip. “It would come right back.”
Emily was quiet for a moment. “That sounds hard to watch.”
“It is.” The admission surprised me. “That’s the thing. I started the day fully committed to being annoyed at him. And then he showed up looking all lost and restless, and I just... couldn’t hold on to it.”
“Because, even after all these years, you care about him.”
“Because I’m an idiot.”
“Those aren’t mutually exclusive.”
I almost choked on my wine. “I guess not.”
Emily leaned her elbows on the counter. “So, what are you going to do?”
“Steer clear.” I delivered the words firmly. Decisively. “He can’t stay at my parents’ forever, can he?”
The words sounded so much more pathetic out loud than they had in my head.
“Probably not, but still.”
“Yeah. I just need some space from him,” I went on. “A few days of not accidentally stumbling across him shirtless or riding a quad bike together or whatever other torture the universe has cooked up. Just... breathing room. That’s all I need.”
“That sounds very sensible.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
My phone buzzed, the screen instantly lighting up with a new message.
Mom: Dinner tomorrow night! Dan’s coming. Saw Poppy at the bakery, and invited her too, since I haven’t seen her for a while. 7pm. Don’t be late!
I stared at the message for an absolute eternity. Then I put my phone on the table and reached for my wine.
Emily glanced at it, then pressed her lips together. “Breathing room, huh?”
“Shut up.”