Page 78 of Broken Trails
It’s the way his words inch past my walls without warning. The way he sees too much without asking for anything. And now, it’s playing out in real time. And I hate that it softens something in me to respond. I double-click on his text and hit the reply button.
Me: Not bad. Annoyed with this town, though. No one here knows how to make a decent matcha. Or carry oat milk.
Michael: What’s matcha?
Me: It’s tea.
Michael: That’s vague.
Me: It’s powdered green tea, made from ground leaves. Bright green. Rich in antioxidants. Happy?
Michael: So… grass.
Me: No. It’s not grass.
Michael: Sounds a lot like grass, Freckles.
Me: You’re impossible.
Michael: Mm. You love it. I mean, Sprinkles does. Which is basically the same thing.
Me: Sprinkles tolerates you. Barely.
Michael: Better than you do, I guess. So… how’s your day been so far?
Me: Quiet. For once.
Michael: You say that like it’s a bad thing.
Me: I’m just not used to it.
Michael: Want me to come stir things up?
Me: Don’t you have to deal with Dave?
Michael: Sort of, but I can multitask. Especially if it means I get a cuddle.
My breath snags in my throat. From Sprinkles? Or… me? Do not entertain that thought, Zoe. My fingers hesitate. He’s joking. I know he is. Mostly. But the way my heart flutters annoys me. I start typing a reply, then delete it. Then retype. Then delete again.
Michael: I can practically hear your thoughts. I mean from Sprinkles, Zoe.
Michael: Unless, of course, you’re down for a cuddle too. I would happily oblige.
I blink. How does he do that? How does he know? That scares me more than I want to admit. Because this man—this stranger, technically—knows what I could be thinking. How I react. And that’s more than Liam ever learned in all the years we were married.
Me: No thanks.
Michael: Mhm. We’ll see. I give excellent cuddles. And before you assume I mean other women… I mean my niece and nephew can attest to it.
Me: Whatever. I didn’t assume anything.
Michael: Sure, you didn’t. So, are you okay?
Me: I’m fine, Michael.
Michael: Really?
Me: What do you want me to say?
