Page 34 of Tee the Season
“Right. Reality.” The words comes out harder than I intend.
She flinches slightly but doesn’t argue. Just nods and looks back down at her coffee. The silence stretches, heavy and awful, everything I want to say stuck behind my teeth.
We finish our morning cup of joe in painful silence with only the sound of plows scraping the street below.
I don’t have much to pack. Never do. The life of someone who lives out of hotel rooms fits neatly into one small carry-on. Especially because we travel with enough equipment to cover any scenario.
Tabitha hovers in the doorway between the kitchen and living room, arms wrapped around herself. The orange hat and snowman gloves are still on her coat rack. The little wooden peg game sits on the counter. The blanket we cuddled under rests on the couch. All evidence of three days that changed everything not scattered through her place like breadcrumbs.
I pause at the door, gripping the shoulder strap of my bag. My chest feels tense, as if I’m leaving behind something vital.
She’s backlit by the morning sun through her window, and she’s so beautiful it makes my ribs ache. Beautiful and guarded and already pulling away, protecting herself the only way she knows how.
“Will you tell Sophie I said goodbye?” Her voice is small.
The question guts me. She’s thinking about my niece. About the life she assumes I’m going back to.
“Tabitha—”
“Have a safe flight.”
I should correct her. Should tell her I’m not going anywhere, not yet. And hopefully, not anytime soon. The words are rightthere. But so is the fear, raw and sharp, that telling her will make everything worse.
“Take care of yourself,” I say instead.
“You, too.”
We stand there, three feet apart that might as well be a thousand miles. Both waiting for the other to close the distance.
She doesn’t. Neither do I.
I leave, standing in the stairwell for at least thirty seconds, staring at the door she’s closed behind me. Hoping she’ll fling it open. Praying she’ll call me back.
But she doesn’t.
Chapter sixteen
Rory
Hays pulls up right on time, carefully navigating the snow-packed street in his SUV.
“Thought you might’ve chickened out,” he says as I toss my duffel in the back and climb into the passenger seat.
I don’t reply but slam the door harder than necessary. Hays doesn’t pull away, just sits there, studying me in silence while I stare straight ahead.
“You look like hell.”
“Didn’t sleep much.”
“I bet you didn’t.” His grin is wicked, and his tone suggestive. “Though I’m guessing that had nothing to do with the storm and everything to do with—”
“Hays,” I growl.
“What? I’m just saying, snowed in with Tabitha for three days, I’m sure you’re exhausted—”
I side-eye my best friend with a look of warning. “Are we really doing this?”
“Oh, we’re absolutely doing this.”
