Chapter 13 #4
His words are breathless, his eyes still dark, and Sage can’t help the way her forehead falls against his chest as a hiccupping laugh escapes her.
They can ignore it, right? Surely, they can ignore it.
Another knock sounds, and Sage sags in resignation.
“Expecting someone?” Theo asks, the words vibrating against every place she’s pressed against him. There’s an amused smile dancing through his tone.
“No,” she admits with a frown, her pulse struggling to find a regular rhythm. It feels like an effort to move away from him, but she carefully maneuvers herself out of his grip, the cold rushing in as she heads to where the banging has started up again. “It’s probably …”
She swings the door open. “Edgar.”
“Power’s out,” Edgar says, flashlight in hand, as if Sage isn’t standing in the dark, lit only by the flames of the fireplace. Greta stands behind him, all gray curls and bright eyes.
Sage immediately tries to smooth her hair with one hand, the other adjusting her sweater.
“She knows, Edgar,” Greta tells her husband as she shoves forward with a cluck of her tongue. “We have the generator running if you’d like to come up to the house,” she offers Sage. “There’s plenty of room, and …” Greta trails off as her gaze slides over Sage’s shoulder.
Theo is standing a few paces behind her, his lips still red from their kiss. But there’s an unreadable look on his face as he stares back at Greta, and it has apprehension washing over Sage.
“My god,” Greta says. “Theo Sharpe.”
Shit.
Sage’s heart drops, her fingers tightening on the door as she faces her host. It isn’t the first time someone has recognized him in Skye, but it is the first time they’ve been so direct.
Sage’s mouth pops open to say … something.
She hasn’t quite figured it out yet. But then Theo is stepping up to her side and Greta is stepping forward and there’s a thwack as she smacks him on the chest and Sage is …
Confused.
Sage is very, very confused.
“How long have you been loitering in my guesthouse without coming to say hello? I know your mother taught you better manners.”
Theo ducks his head. “Greta. Edgar. Sorry about that. I’ve been a bit … distracted.” His eyes flick to Sage for the briefest of moments. “It’s really good to see you both.”
“How many years has it been, lad?” Edgar chimes in, his handshake vigorous.
“Nine.”
Theo’s answer is so immediate it pulls Sage up short. She cuts him a glance, noting the way his smile is fixed. Tight.
Greta just nods. “Nine years and not looking a day older than the last time we saw you and Ollie hiking up in the hills.”
There’s an awkward pause—a tension that says no one knows quite what to say after that. The fire casts dancing shadows across the panes of Theo’s face, accentuating his sharp edges.
Sage finds herself stepping into him, her shoulder brushing against his arm as she says, “We’re actually just about to sit down to dinner …”
“Yes, of course,” Greta replies hurriedly, her gloved hand gripping Edgar’s jacket sleeve and tugging. “Theo, how long are you in town for?”
“I haven’t quite figured that out yet.”
Sage ignores the flood of uneasiness that brings her.
“At least a few weeks,” he continues.
“Excellent. You’ll have to come by for dinner.” She gives Edgar another tug. “Come on, dear.”
“But won’t you two be cold?” Edgar asks, his bushy brows furrowing into a frown as he peers into the dark cottage.
“I’m sure they’ll think of some way to keep warm, Edgar,” Greta retorts. She throws Sage a wink, and Sage promptly wants to die.
“Thankyouforcheckingonushaveagoodnight,” she rushes out before she slams the door. She lets her head fall forward against the wood, the breath whooshing out of her in one long exhale.
“Thanks,” Theo murmurs. She turns to find him watching her warily.
Sage nods, shifting uncomfortably under the silence that fills the cottage.
The heat from earlier is nowhere to be found despite the way the fire burns merrily.
Instead, there’s a heaviness forcing its way into the room, an awkwardness that demands to be felt.
“You didn’t …” She trails off, careful to be sure there’s no hint of accusation in her words. “You recognized the house. The day you dropped me off here.”
“I did.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
His shrug is half-hearted. “I wasn’t sure if they still lived here. Maybe part of me even hoped they didn’t. They’re lovely people. Even sent flowers when Mum and Ollie died. I just … I haven’t seen them since …”
Theo clears his throat, his hands sliding into the pockets of his jeans. “It’s complicated,” he finishes. He shifts his weight between his feet.
“They won’t say anything to anyone,” he continues. “About me being here. In case you’re worried. Like I said, people here leave me alone for the most part.”
Sage’s lips part, but no sound escapes her.
“Theo,” she finally forces out.
“I saw your face,” he says, cutting her off gently. “When Greta first recognized me.”
“That wasn’t—”
“It’s fine, Sage,” he says, entirely too earnest. “Truly. I just … didn’t want you stressing about it.”
She was, is the thing. When Greta had first recognized him, she was. But then everything else had unfolded, and her worry had shifted tracks so fast it had nearly made her dizzy.
She’s not thinking of Greta. She’s thinking of Theo, and the tension in his jaw, and the way he looks like he wants to make himself smaller.
“Are you okay?” Her question is soft. Careful.
Theo rocks back on his heels.
“Yeah. I’m good.” He glances to the window, to where the snow has become a relentless wall of white. “Erm. Do you … do you want me to go? Before the snow gets too bad and I can’t drive home?”
Sage pauses.
Oh.
That thought actually hadn’t even crossed her mind.
She tugs her bottom lip between her teeth as she considers him. Does he want to go? Is that why he’s offering?
He scans her face, and something softens in him at whatever he finds there. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he confesses quietly.
“Theo.” Sage lets the gravity of him draw her closer. “I’m not going to throw you out into a snowstorm. Unless you want to leave?”
She has to be sure.
“Absolutely not,” he says resolutely. He grins, but the gesture doesn’t quite ring true. There’s a distance in his eyes, even as he teases her with, “I was promised crisps for dinner.”
Sage sees it for what it is. He’s redirecting, trying to dispel the obvious discomfort that lingers in the wake of Edgar and Greta’s visit.
She closes the distance between them, her hand brushing against his side as she moves back toward the kitchen.
“I have a better idea.”