She felt it too.
I didn’t have to look at her to know, but I did.
She was sitting across from me on one of the sleeping bags, knees tucked up to her chest, hands wrapped around her water bottle like it might give her something solid to hold onto. Her smile had dulled. Her shoulders had dropped. She was looking toward the lake now, not at me.
Because I’d pulled away.
Just like always.
It wasn’t her fault. Hell, it wasn’t evenabouther. But that didn’t make it hurt any less watching her shrink into herself because I’d shut the window she’d just started cracking open.
She didn’t deserve that.
She deserved firelight and open doors and someone who didn’t flinch at the first hint of intimacy.
But I didn’t know how not to flinch. Not when the things that were buried inside me still felt like they could ruin whatever I touched.
I took another bite of my sandwich even though I wasn’t hungry anymore. The food felt like cardboard in my mouth. My jaw worked out of habit, not need. And I knew this wasn’t just some passing dip in mood. This was the old wiring kicking in.
Shut down.
Don’t open.
Keep it casual.
Do not make this real.
“So,” Fifi said after a stretch of silence. “That sandwich changed my life.”
It was light. Playful. Forced.
But I looked up and met her eyes, and she was trying.
Trying to keep us from slipping too far.
“Changed it how?” I asked, making my voice sound as normal as possible. “Are you going to start a fan club for my sandwich stacking skills?”
She gave me a faint smile. “Obviously. You’re president, but I’m head of PR. I’ll make stickers.”
“Great. We’ll go national. Tour the country in Clarabelle. Spread the gospel of turkey and Swiss.”
She let out a laugh, but it faded too quickly. “I think Clarabelle might reject that plan.”
“She’s temperamental.”
“She hasboundaries.”
We both chuckled, and for a second, it was better. Lighter. But there was still a tightness in her smile that hadn’t been there before.
I hated that I’d caused it.
“Thanks for not letting me get eaten by an angry beaver,” she said, brushing crumbs from her hands and rising to her feet.
“Anytime,” I said, standing there and shoving the trash into the cooler. “It’s in the lodge’s fine print, I’m sure.”
She glanced over at me and smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes this time. “Guess it’s time to hike back, huh?”
“Yeah,” I said. “It is.”
