Perfect.
“Right this way,” I say, and even I can hear how strained it sounds.
Cassidy falls into step with me as if none of the earlier awkwardness ever happened and starts talking—about the property, the view, the hills around the lake. She has a gift for filling silence that I’ve always vaguely admired and currently resent.
“It’s just beautiful out here,” she says, gesturing toward the lake. “Do you know if there’s kayaking? I read that the lake is big enough.”
“Yeah, I think so,” I say, remembering a shed full of equipment I saw by the dock during our horse ride.
“Amazing. Rick, we have to do kayaking tomorrow.”
“Sure, babe,” Rick says, and I hear his footsteps just behind me on the gravel path.
I don’t look back at him.
Then I hear him ask Connor if he’s Irish. Connor says yes, and Rick starts telling him about the trip he and Cassidy took to Dublin a month ago. I just listen to them, completely in my head, already wishing this weekend was over.
When we step into the cottage, Connor steps beside me. His hand finds mine without ceremony, his fingers sliding between mine, and I feel the anxiety in my chest ease a little.
The cottage is warm and quiet, and for a moment I wish Connor and I weren’t sharing it with Rick and Cassidy. Once we’re upstairs, I let go of Connor’s hand, and he gives me a quick reassuring smile before heading into our room. I push open the left door. It’s basically the same as ours, maybe a little smaller. Cassidy steps past me and makes a soft approving sound.
“Oh, it’s so cozy in here!”
Rick pauses in the doorway.
“This is great, Noah,” he says. “Thanks.”
“Sure,” I say, even though I had nothing to do with any of it.
He looks at me for half a second—and there it is again, that unreadable look that doesn’t quite fit the polished Rick of birthday parties and dinners out. Then it’s gone.
“See you at dinner,” he says.
“Yep,” I say.
I walk into our room and pull the door shut behind me. Connor is pulling off his wet flip-flops, dripping water on the floor.
“You’re dripping,” I tell him, and Connor snorts.
“Yeah, I forgot to take a towel with me.”
“Take your soggy shorts off,” I say, smiling despite myself.
“If you ask me nicely, baby,” Connor says, lowering his voice a little and waggling his eyebrows.
I roll my eyes and chuckle, then take off my hoodie because it’s damp and not exactly dinner-appropriate, while Connor rummages through his bag.
We’re completely quiet for a few seconds. Then from the next room we hear Rick’s voice and Cassidy’s laugh.
I turn to look at Connor.
“The walls,” I whisper. “They’re as shitty as the ones we have back home.”
Connor straightens up to listen.
Cassidy laughs again, softer this time, and I hear the low murmur of Rick’s voice underneath it, too quiet to make out the words.
Something clenches in my chest. Not jealousy. Or maybe it is jealousy, but not the kind that burns—the kind that aches. The kind that makes you feel physically sick that the person you once loved gets to have this separate life without you.
