Page 103 of Townshipped
“I think I’ll stay here,” I answer him. “You three go and get food. I’ll start packing and straighten the room where I’ve been staying.”
Aiden momentarily stiffens and then smiles a half-smile in my direction.
“Sounds good. Want us to bring you anything?”
“No. I’ll just make a peanut butter sandwich here if I get hungry.” I pause, realizing that sounded presumptuous as a guest, and add, “If that’s alright.”
“Of course it’s alright.”
Our eyes meet over the kids’ heads. Questions I want to ask must show on my face. He looks back as if he isn’t the person with any of my answers anymore. And he isn’t, no matter how much I want him to be.
I mean to pack, but once the three of them head out the door, I walk into my bedroom and fall onto my bed—the bed where I’ve been sleeping the past three weeks. Granger hops up next to me and I soothe myself by rubbing him on the belly and allowing his measured breathing to temporarily regulate the erratic sensations in my heart.
It feels like only a half hour passes while Granger and I lie together, but before I know it, the front door opens and the sound of Ty and Paisley thundering through the entryway causes Granger to leap off my bed to greet them.
“Upstairs,” Aiden says with an authority that feels extra powerful tonight. “It’s bedtime.”
“But, Uncle Aiden, tomorrow is Saturday. We don’t have to be up early. We can stay up later,” Paisley reasons with him.
“Bedtime is bedtime,” Aiden says in a mood that seems slightly sour and definitely leaves no room for bargaining.
“Ohhhkayyyy,” Paisley half-whines as she turns and walks up the stairs.
The sound of her footsteps is followed by Ty’s as they make their way toward their bedrooms. I force myself to stand up and go into the kitchen.
“Do you want me to help with bedtime, or should we start to transition them tonight?”
“Let’s go through with the routine,” Aiden says with exactly zero emotion. He’s all thought and reason right now and it makes me want to shake him.
Instead, I answer him in as neutral of a tone as I can muster. “Okay.”
Bedtime goes like clockwork. I follow Aiden downstairs and watch as he wanders through the kitchen wiping already clean counters and putting away dishes from the dishwasher.
Nothing has changed for me as I watch him. He’s irresistible, and the tug I feel toward him seems to only have intensified over the past eight hours since the gavel dropped and I found out I was sentenced to leave Ohio to return to Boston.
Every cell in my body seems to be reaching out to be nearer to Aiden, to have him hold me, to feel his stubble graze across my palms as I cup his cheeks and we move in for a kiss.
I tuck all that away. Regardless of what has happened between us over the past three weeks, one thing is clearer than the neon light over the Spart Inn. Aiden has shifted gears. We’re not committed to one another and I’m rapidly becoming a part of his past.
I wanted to ask him something, but now, with him removing himself from me so fully, it seems pointless. Aiden refolds the towel that hangs on the stove and looks around.
He looks up at me, and under his impenetrable surface, I sense a vulnerability I haven’t seen all day. Then he clears his throat. “I’m not any good at this.”
“Good at what?”
“At saying goodbye. Having you here for three weeks and then having you go as quickly as you came. At … any of this.” He waves his hands between us and around himself at the rest of the kitchen. God only knows whatthismeans to him.
“To me, you’ve been good at everything,” I assure him. “You took me in and made me feel welcome.”
I take a cautious step toward him.
“You gave me a place to heal.”
I move just a touch nearer.
“You never made me feel like a burden or imposition.”
I take another stride closer, my eyes never leaving his, silently pleading with him to let me in one more time.
