I offer a small smile. “I know.”
We stand there, a foot of space and a thousand miles between us.
“Lance is a good man,” I say because it’s the truth and we promised each other honesty. “He stepped in when it counted. He asked me out like a gentleman. I turned him down anyway. Not because I owe you anything, but because I can’t manage half measures with other people while I’m this”—I gesture between us—“compromised.”
Henry’s expression shifts. Something uncoils in his posture. He steps close enough that our breaths mix but not close enough to trap me.
“Compromised isn’t the word I’d use,” he says. “Committed, maybe. Or doomed.”
“Morbid,” I say, even as my mouth curves.
He cups my face. “I’m sorry about what happened. Every part of me wants to find that asshole and take him out.”
“I know,” I say. “And I also know what it costs you to feel that way.”
He doesn’t reply. He doesn’t have to. We both know he’s still struggling with taking Ralph’s life.
He bends. I don’t stop him. He brushes his lips against mine.
The kiss is not like last night’s. It’s careful. Patient. He tastes like tea and rain. He slides one hand to the back of my neck, and I sway into him.
“Good?” he asks against my mouth.
“Different,” I whisper.
“Good different?”
“Yes.”
He kisses me again, deeper this time but still measured. I fist my hands in his shirt, which is damp from mist. I want to peel it off him.
But I also want to leave it on him because if I take it off we’ll be other people again, the ones from the storm. I’m not ready to be them. Not yet. Not until I’m strong enough to walk away again.
“Walk with me,” he says, our foreheads touching.
“We’re already walking.”
He gestures down the trail. “A little longer.”
We continue, sometimes holding hands, sometimes not.
He points to a row of columbines sprouting where the trail dips. “Angie used to pick those for Mom,” he says. “Then Sage decided, at the bright age of ten, to go into the wildflower business. She wanted three cents a stem.”
“Did she get rich?” I roll my eyes. “Sorry. Stupid question to ask about a girl with a trust fund.”
He laughs. “That’s Sage. Always looking at numbers.”
We circle back toward the cabin. My jeans are damp at the hem, but I don’t mind. The walk was just what I needed.
Air.
Air between Henry and me and whatever is going on between us.
I love him.
I love him with all my heart.
But he’s not ready to hear that yet, and I’m not ready to say it.
