Page 63 of Between Love and War
Michael waves lazily from his half-reclined position. “Hi, Bon.”
Bon raises an eyebrow at me as she sets the bag down. “So, you’ve already got the best company.”
“Bonita,” I hiss. “Boundaries.”
“You literally don’t have any.” She walks in like she owns the place and drops the bag dramatically onto my side table. “Anyway. Ginger ale, crackers, fruits, and my lingering judgment. Enjoy.”
She’s halfway out the door when she adds, “Also, I expect details—maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow—but one day, when you’re emotionally stable and less… pale.”
“I hate you,” I hiss.
“You don’t.” Bon rolls her eyes as she leans on the doorway.
“Fine, I dislike you in a very gentle way.”
She chuckles, then she’s gone.
I flop back on the pillow, groaning into the fabric. “So. That happened.”
“You’re gonna need more lessons on crisis management. I’ll introduce you to my PR team,” he says.
I groan even louder. Michael laughs but I don’t join him. I’m too busy planning my relocation to a remote island where my friends can never find me.
“So, anyway,” he adds. “Where were we?”
I slowly peel myself off the pillow and sit up again, gathering the blanket around me like it’s a shield. I glance at him.
He’s still here. Still reclining against my bed frame. Still on my bed, legs stretched out. His hair’s slightly rumpled from the way I accidentally crash-landed on him, and he doesn’t even look remotely flustered. If anything, he looks amused.
“You’re used to that, aren’t you?” I ask, tilting my head as I study him.
He raises a brow. “Used to what?”
“Those kinds of encounters,” I say, motioning vaguely toward the door like it still contains the ghost of Bon’s dramatic exit. “Girls falling on you. Getting caught in weirdly compromising positions. Unbothered energy. You didn’t even flinch.”
Michael grins, leaning forward just a little, like he’s about to share a secret. “May I remind you,” he says with mock patience, “you didn’t exactlygiveme time to flinch. You launched yourself at me, Katherine.”
I sigh, dramatically this time. “I walked right into that one, didn’t I?”
“You flew into it, really,” he says with a soft chuckle, adjusting his posture so he’s seated more properly now. Elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped loosely between them. Less lounging, more engaged. “But to answer your question, no, I’m notusedto that. And don’t think I didn’t notice that deflection. You never answered my question.”
I raise an eyebrow, cautious. “What question?”
Michael gives me that look again. The one that’s playful, but not unserious. “You can avoid it all you want,” he says, voice a little quieter now, “but I have a feeling there’s more to you than just wanting the small-town life.”
And just like that, my throat tightens.
Because Idowant it. The small town, the simplicity, the rhythm of days that feel familiar. Teaching kids, baking cookies, movie nights with friends. A life with clearly marked edges. But sometimes I wake up with a restlessness I can’t explain. A buzzing in my chest like I’m meant to be doing more, or going somewhere, or being someone else.
“I don’t know,” I say finally, fiddling with the hem of the blanket. “Maybe I’m just… not brave enough to want anything bigger,” I finally admit. It feels weird to say it out loud.
Michael doesn’t speak right away. He just studies me for a moment, then says, “You know,” his voice is careful now, as if he’s choosing each word like it might break something, “it doesn’t take less courage to stay. Especially when you know you could’ve run. So you’re being really brave right now.”
I blink at him. For a second, I forget how to breathe. Again.
He doesn’t break eye contact, and he’s not smiling this time. Not in the usual playful way. There’s a different look on his face now—one that’s gentle and clear, like he’s not trying to convince me of anything, just telling the truth because it’s what he sees.
I shift, not quite sure what to do with the way my chest tightens again, this time for a whole different reason. “You make it sound like I’ve figured something out.”
