“So what now?” B asks, looking between Seb and me.
Sebastian gives him an annoyed look. The dynamic between them is still strained, but it feels like Seb is warming up. Maybe. Sort of.
“Well, we need food, so we need to try to drive into Flurry,” Seb continues. “And we need to figure out how to get Fi’s car towed and fixed.”
Now that the fire seems to be crackling happily, I turn to Seb. “We have some canned goods here.” I nod at B. “And also, there’s a whole closet of men’s clothes up in the loft that were my dad’s. Take your pick if you need something.”
B walks into the kitchen and starts opening cabinets. “Beans, corn, Spam? Ew. Yes, groceries.”
“I need to be the one to go,” Sebastian says. He sits forward and puts his forearms on his knees. “I’ll drive Stitch’s truck into town and get some supplies and talk to the local car place about a tow and repair.”
“Wait, it’s my truck,” B protests. “Why can’t I go?”
“Well, one, you’re in no condition to be away from the bathroom. And two, because you’ll come back with beer and ketchup potato chips.”
I snicker, and Brantley frowns. “Technically, they won’t have ketchup chips,” he says sullenly. “That’s a Canadian thing.” B closes the cabinet and bends down to study the radio on the counter. He presses a button, and his eyes widen when the tape deck opens.
“And Fi is in hiding,” Seb says. He glances at me. “No offense, Fi, but with that red hair, you don’t exactly blend in.” He sighs and turns to B, throwing an arm over the back of the couch. His expression is a little regretful. “Plus, as much as it pains me to say it, someone needs to stay here with Fi.”
“Hey!” I protest, standing. “I don’t need a keeper.”
Sebastian stands and walks over to me. His citrus smell fills my nostrils as he crowds me.
“This isn’t some toxic masculine need to protect you, Fi.” His words are heavy and loaded with silent meaning. It gives me chills. “I’m your friend, so let me help. For once. Please.” My eyes drop to his lips, and my whole body warms. I haven’t really touched anyone since Anna, and I didn’t realize how much I need it. Crave it. “You think I don’t see you, but I do. You’ve been pretending that you’re okay, but it’s not necessary, Fi.”
I nod reluctantly because I know he’s right.
Band I stand on the front porch, and Seb joins us, pulling on his coat. Brantley scoured my dad’s clothing, which consisted mostly of old band T-shirts and flannels and found an acceptable outfit, but I’m fully aware he’s going commando because both guys insisted that you don’t wear another man’s underwear. Seb said he’d try to hunt down some boxers in town.
Whatever. Guys are weird.
Seb pulls on a green toque, tugging it down over his ears, and rubs his hands together. “I won’t be long,” he says, holding out his hand for Brantley’s keys.
B looks at his outstretched palm indignantly but passes them over with a sigh. “Take care of her,” he says mournfully, and I laugh at his dramatics.
“You too,” Seb says, nodding at me, and I roll my eyes.
He gets into the truck, then starts up the engine and sits a minute before putting it in reverse and backing out of the snow-packed driveway. The big tires have no problem finding traction as Seb takes off down the small road and disappears from sight.
“What now?” I ask.
“Let’s take a walk,” B says and nods toward the trail at the other end of the yard.
“Okay.”
The sky is heavy with thick gray clouds, but the snow has stopped, and the forest is silent except for the gurgle of the creek and the crunch of our boots as we shuffle side-by-side through the powdery whiteness.
For once, being with B just feels normal.
I look up at the treetops, admiring the way icicles cling tothe tips of the pine trees like frozen tears, when my foot catches on a root, and I stumble.
B’s hand steadies me as I regain my balance, and his gloved fingers tangle with mine. I look down at our intertwined hands and up at him. His cheeks are rosy with cold, and his hazel eyes are almost green in the filtered forest light. We move forward again along the path.
I squeeze Brantley’s hand gently. “How have you really been, B?”
“Do you want the funny answer or the real one?”
“The real one.”
