It’s very tempting to simply turn the truck around and just head back, but my crew needs me. We have projects that need looking over and contracts that need to be signed. Skipping one day is understandable when the weather would have kept us locked in anyway, but any more than that would raise questions.
“But I have calls to make and I’ve been meaning to clean out some of the clutter at the house so I might do that,” she says after a moment.
“Want any help?” I volunteer. “I think we’ve proven we’re pretty handy.”
Everly chuckles. “It’s nothing crazy. Just packing up some old stuff to take to the church donation.”
“I have a truck,” I point and get another sweet giggle. “Less trips.”
I know I’m pushing too hard. I know I’m supposed to drop her off and drive away. That was the plan.
But what harm is a few more hours with her? We’re helping her clean up clutter. We’re being neighborly.
“I would like that,” she says softly. “Thank you.”
I don’t reply. I can’t without showing the relief loosening the bands around my chest.
The conversation extends to dropping her off. Taking me and Van home to change and drop off our stuff. Empty the truck bed. And return to help her load up.
At that point, I figure one of us can run to Mama May’s diner and order some dinner. No one would blame us for eating.
Tomorrow, we’ll return to the cabin and finish getting the yard ready. We’ll only be gone a few hours. I doubt anyone would even notice.
When did I get so good at lying to myself? I wonder with a weighted exhale.
It’s early afternoon by the time we maneuver our way through town. The roads are full of people going about their business, enjoying the soft shift of heat elevated by the rain. There’s still a humidity that dampens clothes against skin, but it’s not joined by the scorching sun.
But while everything is exactly how we left it just the day before, there’s a dimness to the scenery. An absence of something I can’t put my finger on. Maybe it’s my lack of desire to be here. Maybe it’s the sprinkling of hatred I can feel growing inside me. Whatever it is, whatever is holding me back, it stays in my gut like a rock the entire way to Everly’s house.
She doesn’t move when I pull to a stop.
Neither do we.
We sit still and quiet in her driveway, surrounded by prying eyes, unable to do anything else when I’m dying to pull her to me and kiss her. All I can do is squeeze her fingers.
“We’ll be back,” I tell her softly when her fingers tighten around mine in return with an almost possessive clamp. “Promise.”
“I know,” she breathes with a tiny chuckle. “I feel silly, but ... I...”
I disagree. I understand completely the need to have her with us, but if we’re going to keep this charade going, we need to act naturally.
“Get inside, sweetheart,” I tell her firmly.
She doesn’t argue. She says nothing when she scoots across the bench after Van who throws open his door and slides down with the same ease he always has, except I know him better than that. The rigid tension coiled tight beneath his skin does not go unnoticed by me, nor does the ten possessive fingers he curls around her waist to lift her down.
Everly lets him. She settles her tiny fingers on his shoulders and lets herself get pulled into him. Lets him cradle her a heartbeat too long before he sets her down.
Bottom lip caught between her teeth, her head tips over her shoulder to where I can’t take my eyes off her. The look she gives me ... the longing that sparks between us sends a physical ache through me that has my fingers fisting around the wheel in restraint.
“Hurry,” she whispers quietly. Then, with a weak smile she adds, “I don’t want to have all the fun without you.”
With a final peek at Van, she takes a step back. Then another. On the third, she turns on her heels and hurries inside, and I’m relieved she doesn’t glance back when the door closes behind her. I honestly don’t think I’m strong enough not to follow her.
We have her bag, I note vaguely as Van returns to his seat. It’s still in the backseat, but I say nothing as I pull out of the driveway.
We don’t speak. What can we possibly say that the other isn’t already feeling? The anger and longing is a weighted force choking the air. All we can do is do what we said we would do and hurry back to her.
“Shit,” Van breathes as I turn down our street and we both spot it.