Thank god for my practical nature. Now that we’re staying, the change of clothes for the drive home, including the leggings and long-sleeved shirt I’m wearing under his pilfered sweatshirt is really coming in handy. The hoodie that I snagged from the camper when I got dressed is soft, smells like him, with a hint of smoke, and has his unit patch printed on the back. The one I borrowed earlier was a recent purchase from Timberline Peak; this one is all him, and he’s never getting it back.
Emmett ducks back inside, and I watch from outside as he lifts the bench seat at the small table and pulls out a blanket. My hand in his, blanket tucked under his arm, he leads me to the cooler. Dropping his grip on me, he removes the top, diggingthrough it until he finds the sandwiches, drinks, veggies, and cheese from the General Store.
I take the drinks from him and follow him to the back of the van.
“Wait here for a second.”
What are you up to, Emmett Slate?
The face I pull must telegraph my thoughts.
“Just humor me.”
“Be careful,” I say.
“If it makes you feel better, I’ll climb the ladder one-handed.”
I roll my eyes. “Yes, because falling is going to be great for your recovery when you’re so close to the finish line.”
He throws the blanket over his shoulder and holds out the food for me to take from him.
With everything piled in my arms, I watch as he climbs the ladder with the ease of someone who is pain free. When he’s on top of the van, he shakes out the blanket and spreads it out, then gets on his stomach, extending his arms to me so I can hand up the drinks and food.
“Now you,” he says, scooting back and waiting for me.
When I get to the top rung, he reaches for my hand, pulling me to him. I end up in his lap.
“It’s like you’re trying to get hurt,” I grumble.
“Nah, I just feel good.”
He says it like it caught him off guard. Like he can’t remember the last time his mind and body felt this good.
My hands land on his shoulders, but they don’t stay there long. I can’t resist the urge to sink my fingers into the hair his grandma called too long. My knees brace the side of his thighs, but unlike earlier, there’s nothing sensual about our position. It’s just comfortable. Touching him settles something in me.
He exhales slowly, through his nose, as my fingers press into the base of his skull, rubbing. His hands stay on waist, but his eyes drift past my shoulder, toward the darkening ridge.
“Everyone needs good days once in a while. It’s okay to just enjoy it,” I say softly.
“I’m very much enjoying it. Having you here made that a given.”
“Your grandma is the best.” There’s a pang of grief for my own grandma. “She’s sweet and funny. More chatty than you, but I suppose that’s not saying much.”
“Rory was like that too.” His warm palms find their way under my sweatshirt, and his thumbs stroke over my hipbones. “I wish you could have met her.”
His voice softens around her name instead of breaking beneath the weight of it.
“Me too,” I whisper as I swallow around the lump rising in my throat. “I’d like it if you told me more about her. If you want to.”
He goes quiet so long I wonder if I pushed too hard.
Then a rough breath leaves him.
“She didn’t deserve what happened.” His jaw tightens hard enough to hurt just looking at it. “I keep thinking if it had to be one of us, it should’ve been me.”
“Emmett—”
“She was better than me.” The words come harsher now, like they’ve been clawing to get out for years.
