Page 83 of Dare To Fall

Chapter 53

Eli

I’m sitting at the breakfast bar eating a bowl of cereal when she appears the next morning.

“Morning, Ari. There’s coffee in the pot if you want some. Help yourself to whatever you want for breakfast. I wasn’t sure what you’d like so there’s cereal, or bread for toast. I also picked up ingredients for pancakes, or there’s bacon and eggs if you’d prefer.”

She ignores me, and takes a glass out of a cabinet, then fills it with milk from the refrigerator.

“You’re not limping. That’s good. I guess you didn’t sprain it, after all.”

Still nothing.

Okay. It’s only been twelve hours. I can’t expect her to behave like I didn’t almost kill her. Not without earning her trust again. My eyes follow her as she takes out a plate, finds the bread and puts two slices into the toaster, then reopens the refrigerator to take out the butter.

“Ari.”

Other than a slight stiffening of her shoulders, I might as well not be speaking for all the attention she pays me.

When the toast pops up, she spreads the butter over it, cuts it into neat triangles, then gathers up the plate, her drink and disappears back to the bedroom.

Well, that went better than expected.

I finish my cereal, wash up the bowl and spoon, and leave it on the drainer, then walk down the hallway to her room. Tapping on the door, I call her name.

“Ari, we need to talk.”

Silence.

My hand hovers over the doorknob. I could unlock it and walk inside, but that wouldn’t give the right impression. I want her to trust me, not continue to believe I’m going to hurt her. To prove that, I need to give her the space she wants, the time to think things through, to get to the same place I’ve reached over the past week.

I retrace my steps back into the kitchen, gather up the sketchbook I left on the breakfast bar and take it through to the living room. At some point, she’s going to have to talk to me. Until then, I’ll sketch and plan, and wait.

She reappears at lunchtime, drifting like a ghost into the kitchen. I keep my head down over my sketchpad and watch her out of the corner of my eye while she makes a sandwich. She doesn’t go back to her room, but eats it, standing up in the kitchen. When she’s done, she discovers the dishwasher, loads it, but doesn’t switch it on.

She pauses on her way through the living room, turns, and walks to the front door.

“Don’t go far,” I tell her.

She stops but doesn’t turn. “Am I a prisoner?”

“No, but like I said yesterday, bears are coming out of hibernation. They’re going to be hungry and looking for an easy meal.”

She pulls open the door and walks out.

I flick my lip ring with my tongue.

I should let her walk her anger off.

But what if she loses her way?

If I follow her, she’ll think I’m stalking her.

If I don’t follow her, she could disturb a bear.

Fuck. Scrubbing a hand down my face, I set my sketchbook to one side, stand, and search out my sneakers. I pull on a hoodie and set off after her.

She must walk for at least an hour, and I follow a safe distance behind … until she stops and spins.

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