“I’m fine,” he snapped before loping over to his things and pulling out a first aid kit. He took it to the sink, unwrapped his hand, and ran it under water, grimacing as the stream hit a large gash on his palm.
“You jumped yesterday when it thundered,” she noted.
He pulled out a gauze pad and medical tape as another rumble barreled through the sky. “Can you take the fish off the burner for me?”
She turned off the heat and moved the pan of sizzling fish to the back of the stove.
He ripped a piece of tape with his teeth and wrapped it around his injury.
“So you get jumpy during storms?”
“I was just surprised. Twice.”
“You seemed different at the ice-cream shop today,” she ventured.
He washed his knife, then dried it with a towel and slid it into a leather holder, his attention turned inward.
“Who’s the little boy you were with?”
He began cleaning another knife. “Winston. My sister’s kid.”
“They’re the ones who live in town?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s lucky your sister lives near you.”
His attention fluttered to her and then away. “Yeah.”
“You’re good with kids.” From witnessing only the one interaction, she didn’t know that for sure, but she was hoping he’d either refute it or agree—something to keep the conversation going and maybe soften his edge.
But he didn’t answer.
“Sorry I’m so talkative,” she said. “It’s the elementary-school teacher in me. I chat all day. And it’s a good way to make friends.”
Interest flickered across his face before he snapped the leather knife holder shut and turned away to pack it into his bag. He pulled out three plates.
“Why don’t you like to talk?” she asked.
“I don’t need to. And it’s overrated.”
She considered the magazine feature they’d heard about on the way into town. Wouldn’t the fact that he’d been in a feature article say otherwise? But she decided not to bring it up. “Why is it overrated?” she asked instead.
“We’ll share a few thoughts, chuckle at each other’s jokes because we’re supposed to, and then we’ll go back to our regular day, and everything will be exactly the same.”
“I saw how you interacted with Winston. Why do you talk so freely with him then?”
His brows pulled together. “Because he’s a kid.”
“And that’s different?”
“He has no motives.”
“I have no motive,” she said. “I just want to make small talk since you’re cooking dinner for me every night.”
“But at the end of this you’ll go back home, continue on with your life, and none of it will matter. Winstonismy life—every day and night.”
His comment warmed her. “Fair enough.” She sighed. “I’ll let you get back to it.”
