Page 9 of Huck Frasier
And I didn’t want her to leave.
But she would.
That was what Marley Bennett did.
She ran before she could be left behind. Or maybe it wasn’t. I didn’t know her well enough to know if she was like that.
So I made breakfast, quietly, like nothing happened. Like I wasn’t already thinking about the next time. And the next.
When she finally sat up and blinked at me, I handed her coffee.
She took it without a word.
We stared at each other over the rim of our mugs.
“Don’t say it,” she warned.
“Say what?”
“That this meant something.”
I raised a brow. “You mean like the last time?”
Her eyes narrowed. “I mean it.”
“Yeah,” I said, stepping closer. “You always do. Until you don’t.”
She stood, gathering her things in silence. Then—before walking out the door—she looked back.
“I’m not running. I just need time to think.”
And then she was gone.
But this time…
She left the flannel shirt behind. So I had her shirt and she had mine.
6
Frasier
The shirt she left behind was still on the back of my chair.
It smelled like her.
Which pissed me off.
Because I wasn’t supposed to care. Wasn’t supposed to notice the little things—like how she added honey to her coffee or how her laugh started in her chest and cracked just slightly when she was caught off guard.
But I did.
I noticed all of it.
And I wanted more.
Which made me the idiot in this scenario.
Because Marley Bennett doesn’tdomore, all she does is leave. Clean breaks. Complicated glances over her shoulder like she’s starring in a movie no one else auditioned for.
