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I felt as if my heart were being sawed in half. I needed to touch him. I reached out to cup his cheek. “Oh, Hunter—”
But he wrenched away from me. He whirled toward the door, blowing through it like a gust of wind as he stormed off toward the shadows of the surrounding wood.
“Wait!” I called desperately after him.
He didn’t.
I started after him out of reflex, then stopped and looked down at my shoes. They were sensible heels, but only for a certain value of ‘sensible.’ They were definitely not built for chasing through the woods after a man who didn’t want to be followed.
“I cared” and the look on his face when he said it, that shine in his eyes, had that shine been—
But the “why are you here” thrown in my face like a dishrag, like concentrated disdain, as if he were completely done with me—
Fine. New plan. I’d give him some space. I’d give him all the space he could f**king want, and when he was done throwing a temper tantrum, he could come crawling back to this cabin and me, and then maybe we could finally talk.
Yeah, that sentence had sounded really plausible until the last part.
Was it time to accept that we were never going to have those kind of open, honest conversations we’d once had again? Failure had reared its ugly head once again, knocking me off the warpath I’d so recently set off upon. Damn. Double damn.
I slunk back into the cabin in defeat, not sure how I was going to fill the hours until our stalemate heated up again. I paced back and forth in front of the fireplace, then flipped briefly through an adventure novel with a man wrestling with a snake on the front before admitting that there was no way I was going to be able to focus on a plot. I paced over to the bedroom door, but stopped myself before going through; no point in further violating Hunter’s privacy.
Instead, I stomped over to the fridge and flung the door open, more to have something to do than because I thought I’d left anything edible in there after this morning’s fry-up.
Rows and rows of unlabeled brown glass bottles glinted back at me from the top-most shelf.
“Choose your own adventure,” I murmured, eyeing them.
Well, if Hunter was going to avoid all his responsibilities and drink himself into oblivion, why couldn’t I?
Okay, maybe that wasn’t the most mature response. But I was done trying to be mature. I’d matured myself all out, and if Hunter didn’t like me drinking his beer, maybe he could try being the mature one for a change and have an actual conversation with me about it.
I grabbed a whole crate of the bottles and hauled it outside. The sun was shining, the grass was a soft welcoming carpet, and the air was hot and muggy and just begging me to refresh myself with a sweet, cool draught of whatever-the-hell-this-stuff-was.
I kicked off my shoes in the shade of a willow tree, popped the cap off a bottle, and took a swig. Mmm, that was tasty. But what was it? Some kind of beer, I guessed; there was a definite hoppy flavor to it. But a little hint of vanilla and burnt caramel too, like a bourbon aftertaste.
Whatever it was, it was f**king delicious. I took another swallow, larger this time.
After all, Hunter probably had a head start on his day’s drinking, and I fully intended to catch up.
#
Everything was light and fuzzy and floaty and perfect.
And then Hunter came back.
I felt the tension riding up my spine and shoulders as I watched his tall form hesitantly separate itself from the trees, looking left and right before his gaze settled on me and he began to make his way over. Shit.
I was tipsy, on his booze. This had not been a good plan. This had definitely been in the bottom ten of my plans. He was going to blow his stack, and with all the alcohol in my system I was definitely going to cry.
I almost fled back into the woods myself.
But then I saw his face. It had a hangdog look, remorseful and rueful. His shoulders were hunched, almost as if he were expecting a blow, and his feet dragged slightly along the ground, like a little boy knowing he was about to be punished.
He stopped just in front of me and scuffed his feet along the ground. “I’m sorry.”
Even with the clues of his facial expression and posture, I had been expecting any words but those. “What?”
“I know you didn’t mean to hurt me,” he said, meeting my eyes. “I was using that as an excuse to take this all out on you.” He rubbed the back of his neck, roughly, almost as if he were punishing himself. “I just hate the idea I’m letting all my employees down, all the stockholders. And I hate that I’m ruining the family name.”
Tears started in my eyes and I stood, wavering slightly as the earth did a slow, stately waltz around me.
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