Before he can make it to the door, I move around to open it. “Hey,” I say when the chill sweeps in, ruffling the hair escaping from my braid. I’m in cotton pants, a striped long sleeve tee, andthick socks, but I can still feel the cold nipping at me beneath the heat that’s creeping up my neck, staining my cheeks like a sunburn.
He closes the distance between us, stopping just short of the stairs. He smiles up at me, but there’s a sadness in his eyes that pulls at me. “Hey. Haven’t seen you in a few days.”
“I’ve been here mostly. Working on the final touches.” I move out of the doorway and motion him in.
He climbs the two stairs and moves past me through the door. The last few times he was here, the space felt small, but now it feels microscopic. I’m so aware of his presence, the way his shoulders fill the doorway. How the few inches he has on me mean he could reach the hatch in the roof without having to stand on a stool the way I do.
“You’ve gotten so much done this week,” he says, surprised as he looks around the space.
I shrug a shoulder, wishing I had a better excuse than avoiding him. “I’m pretty much done working for the season, so I had the time.”
He nods like this makes sense. “When do you think you’ll move back?”
I look up at him. He’s not that much taller than me, but every inch feels like a foot in here, the space so small that I have to crane my neck more than usual to look at him. His eyes are intense, fixed on mine.
I swallow, throat dry. “In a few days, probably.” I don’t tell him that I basically have already.
His eyes widen a fraction, there and gone in a blink. “Oh, I guess I thought you’d be in the cabin until after I left.”
“I thought so, too, but the repairs weren’t as extensive as I was anticipating.”
His chin dips in a nod, and he looks around the space once more, like he’s searching for something, evaluating myhandiwork. Finally he looks back at me, and I can’t read the emotion in his eyes. “You could still stay,” he says. “If you wanted company a little longer.”
I want to say yes so badly it scares me. It’s the exact reason I shouldn’t. It will only give me more time to want him, more time to miss him when he goes.
So I avoid his gaze, hoping he won’t notice the lie when I say, “I’ve missed the alone time.”
He’s quiet for one heartbeat, two, long enough that I look back up at him. He’s nodding. “Right, fair.”
There’s a tightness in his voice that wasn’t there before. It matches the feeling in my chest.
For a moment, he looks at the door, and I wonder if he wants to leave. And despite how hard I’ve been working to finish the Airstream so I can move out, I don’t want him to go right now. Not when my time with him is so limited, shrinking with every project I finish. “Want to sit?”
Something passes over his face, but he nods.
I lead him to the couch I finally finished last night in the wee hours of the morning, and we sit down, his knee brushing against mine as he turns to face me. We’ve touched plenty of times now, but this touch sends azingof desire down my spine.
“Have you talked to your mom or Wren?” he asks, and the question hits me hard enough to bank the flames of desire that were burning inside me.
I shake my head and pull my knees up to my chest, wrapping my arms around them. There’s a hole in one of my socks, and my toe pops out, rubbing against the soft fabric of the sofa. “My mom has texted a couple of times, and I responded, but we haven’ttalked, you know?” I sigh. “I need to, but I don’t know what to say.” The conversation with her has been playing on repeat in my head every quiet night I’ve spent here in theAirstream. My eyes flick to his. “You probably think I shouldn’t be wasting the time I have with her. That I should fix it.”
His throat bobs. “I think you love your mom too much to let this come between you,” he says carefully. “But I don’t think I’m in any position to tell you to fix something if you’re not ready to.” The words hang between us for a moment, heavy with meaning. “Have you heard from Wren?”
I shake my head, pressing a hand to my chest where it aches. “No, I think she’s giving me space.”
“Is space what you want?”
“I always want space,” I say automatically.
He lifts a shoulder in a shrug. “You’re allowed to change your mind. Want something different.”
The words stick in my throat, aching to be set free now that he’s given me permission. This tiny Airstream has felt like entirely too much space. All too alone. Loneliness has haunted me, despite trying my best to enjoy the quiet. I miss my family. I miss Wren. And I miss Jack.
“I don’t think I want space,” I say into the quiet.
“Tell her that.”
“I’m still mad at her.”
