Page 20 of Sweet Doe
“You thinkthisis comforting?” she mutters.
I just smile and close the fridge slowly, turning to face her full-on. “It should be.”
I don’t mention the brand of shampoo sitting on the shelf upstairs, or the way I bought two of those dumb fleece blankets she clings to when she sleeps—just in case one wears out. I don’t tell her I ordered the entire backlist of her favorite author in hardcover, or that I memorized the snacks she bought every Tuesday like clockwork. I don’t need to say any of that. She’ll see it all for herself.
“There’s more upstairs,” I tell her, nodding toward the stairs. “Spare bedroom, if you want it. Not that you’ll need it.”
I say it softer. But I know she hears me. I see it in the way her shoulders go rigid. In the way she won’t meet my eyes.
I don’t miss anything about her. Not the twitch of her lip when she’s about to argue. Not the bite behind her silence. Not the way she keeps looking for exits she knows don’t exist.
We step outside onto the back porch. The snow crunches under our boots, thick and untouched. The cold wraps around us, crisp and clean, and I breathe it in like it’s mine.
“This is where we’ll do most of our work once spring hits,” I tell her, watching the wind pick up her hair. “Garden. Maybe a greenhouse. I’ll teach you how to skin a deer. Gut a fish.”
She scoffs. “I work in a salon.”
“Worked,” I correct, voice gentle but firm. “You don’t anymore.”
Her jaw tightens, like she wants to punch me. Maybe she does. But she doesn’t get it yet.
“So I’m just supposed to play house out here while you treat me like a pet?”
“Not a pet,” I say, the warmth draining from my tone. “A partner.”
She snorts. Dry. Bitter. Like that word is an insult coming from me. “Right. Partners usually get chained up and kidnapped.”
I look at her then. Not angry. Not even defensive. Just… real.
“Can you just give it a chance?” I ask, voice dipping low. “I mean, you don’t really have much of a choice… but I’ll make you happier than Alex ever could’ve.”
That gets her attention.
She turns, eyes sharp now. “What happened between you two?”
The question stops me cold.
Not because I don’t have an answer—but because of who’s asking.
Because she still cares.
Because she’s still thinking abouthim.
My jaw clenches, hard enough to ache. The fury rolls in like a tide, thick and sharp, drowning the careful balance I’ve been trying to keep since she got here.
“You want to know what happened?” My voice comes out low, dangerous. “After everything I’ve done—everything I’ve given you—you’re still worried abouthim?”
She takes a half-step back, but I follow.
“I’ve doneeverythingI could to make this perfect for you. To give you somethingsafe. Something real. And you’re still wasting your breath on the piece of shit who couldn’t even be bothered to notice when you were hurting.”
I pace once, forcing myself to breathe, but it’s no use. I’m too far gone now.
“You think Alex ever saw you?” I hiss. “Reallysawyou?”
I shake my head, eyes burning into hers.
“He didn’t see the way you cringed when the romance movies got too cheesy. Or how you’d pull your hoodie up to hide your smile when a book made you laugh. He didn’t notice that youreapply your lipstick halfway through a shift even when it hasn’t faded, or that you tap the side of your glass twice before you drink. You think he gave a fuck about any of that?”
