Page 6 of Huck Frasier
Marley
Idon’t apologize.
It’s not a thing I do. Mostly because I don’t usually have regrets—just tactical errors I learn from and never repeat.
But standing outside Frasier’s cabin, holding a peace offering in the form of a cinnamon scone and a truce flag made out of a napkin that saidI still hate you a little, I was starting to second-guess all my life choices.
I knocked.
Nothing.
I knocked again, louder. It was getting dark fast. The wind came up, and I shivered.
Still nothing.
“Hank?” I called, pressing my ear to the door. “If you’re in there, bark once for help and twice if you want treats.”
The door creaked open.
Frasier stood there shirtless, holding a hammer, and looking like every mistake I ever wanted to make twice.
“What do you want?”
“Wow. Warm welcome. I brought food.”
“Did you poison it?”
“Only emotionally.”
He stepped aside, reluctantly letting me in. “You here to yell at me again?”
“No,” I said, holding out the scone. “I’m here to… apologize.”
His brow lifted so high it nearly hit his hairline. “Seriously?”
“I know. Shocking. Try not to pass out.”
He took the scone, turning it over like it might explode. “Why?”
“Because you fixed my tire. Because you didn’t deserve me ghosting you in Tunisia. And because—” I paused, forcing the words out. “Because I liked you. More than I wanted to.”
That got his attention.
Frasier set the scone down like it was made of glass and crossed his arms. “Then why’d you leave?”
“Because I didn’tdoliking people. I knew your free time was up. I didn’t want to be the one left standing there. I barely trust people. You were too good. Too solid. I didn’t know what to do with that.”
He stared at me for a beat. Two. Then three.
And then thunder cracked so loud I nearly jumped into his arms.
I blinked. “Was that thunder?”
“Yeah.” He moved to the window. “Storm’s rolling in fast. You drove?”
“Walked over.”
“Bad call.”
