Page 222 of Never Die for a Sinner
Then he turns and resumes chopping. I stand there frozen on the porch for what must be an eternity. The wind whips around me, cold enough to chill me to the bone. I wrap the robe tighter around myself as a myriad of emotions swirl through me.
Confusion, distrust, desire, hunger, insecurity.
“Go inside, Ava. It’s cold.”
My gaze snaps back to his, and his gaze holds something I’m not prepared for.
It’s not possessiveness or sadness or anything I was expecting. It’s longing.
I know that feeling all too well.
I’ll earn your trust, one day at a time . . .
I want to ask him to come inside, but I know I’m not ready for that. Instead, the words get caught on my tongue until I’m forced to nod at him and turn to head back into the house.
It takes me a moment to gather my bearings, but eventually, I manage to brush my hair and teeth and change my clothes before I brew some coffee.
I’m just about to head to the living room to resume my cleaning from the day before when I pause, staring at the pot on the counter.
Five minutes later, I’m trudging out into the snow and carrying a thermos full of hot coffee. I have no idea how he drinks it, or if he drinks it at all, but I can’t have him freezing out here on my account.
I keep my distance, placing it on the old tree stump near him, before backing up.
“In case you get cold,” I say hurriedly, before rushing back towards the house.
“Ava,” he calls out, and I freeze at the bottom of the steps. Turning around, I find him watching me.
“Thank you.”
I suck in a shallow breath, a shiver moving through me that has nothing to do with the cold.
“Don’t mention it.”
Every day for the next two weeks is the same. Levi comes over in the morning and works on something around the house. Idon’t invite him in, and he doesn’t ask, though it’s right there on the tip of my tongue every day.
He chops enough wood that I won’t have to worry about it until next winter. He fixes the leak in the porch roof and the loose floorboard to the left of the stairs. He shovels the front walk and makes a path out to the old garage in the back. He even goes so far as to repair Gran’s old rocking chair, which, I won’t lie, made me shed a few secret tears when he left.
We’re getting more comfortable around each other. I bring him coffee every day, and he drinks it black. He never says if he likes it or not, but I bring it anyway.
I think a part of me doesn’t want him to find a reason not to come back because when he runs out of things to fix outside, I ask for his help with the leaking drain under the kitchen sink.
—Then the back door that doesn’t like to shut properly.
—Then the fireplace in the living room, which I have no idea how to work.
I keep finding things, and he keeps fixing them, and I can’t deny that one night, I briefly contemplated breaking something so he could fix it the next day.
We start to talk more. About trivial things. Music and movies. Things that don’t really matter because talking about those things is easier than talking aboutus.
I learn he secretly likesFleetwood Mac, though he’d never tell his brother because he’d never live it down. He learns I went through aSlipknotfaze and still listen to them in the car when I’m alone.
I learn his favorite Christmas movie isDie Hard—shocker—and he learns mine isThe Grinch, because I love how stupid theWho’slook.
I learn he wants to get a dog . . . He learns that I do too.
Life moves around us, but in the comfort of Gran’s little cottage, it feels like it’s just the two of us left in the world.
And that’s when I learn I don’t want him to leave.
