Page 108 of Seale the Deal

Aren’t we in the same boat?

When I picture staying here, Ruger is right by my side. But as soon as I think of stepping out of Alaska, poof, he’s gone. Neither feels particularly right or wrong.

Oh God. My brain hurts far too much for this. I’m not twenty anymore, and drinking my problems into temporary silence is not a sustainable life strategy.

Ruger appears in the kitchen, tall, handsome, and maddeningly composed, with an amused smile tugging at his mouth.

How are you feeling?

Like this is a hangover I definitely deserve, I mutter.

We’ve all been there, he says, laughing softly. Coffee?

Yes, please.

He moves around the kitchen, preparing my hungover ass coffee, and it just makes the whole situation feel worse. The air between us is so thick, I could slice into awkward little cubes.

I try to form an apology. A joke. Anything.

Do you want—

I don’t know what I want! The words explode out of me so loudly they startle both of us.

Ruger’s brows shoot up. Cream, he finishes. I was asking if you wanted cream.

God.

I drop my face into my hands. I want to scream. I want to cry. I want to go back to when this was a simple transaction and I didn’t feel like I was being torn in half by indecision.

Wrenley.

I groan louder. It was one thing having this conversation drunk, but doing it in the sober light of morning is scary. Last night, I could hide behind the beer. Today, I have no such excuse. I really don’t know what I want, and now that I’ve said it out loud, it feels like I’ve opened a door I can’t close again.

Suddenly, warm hands wrap around mine and gently pull them away from my face.

I look up.

Ruger’s crouched before me, eyes searching mine, patient and calm. There isn’t an ounce of frustration in them despite the fact that I’ve spent the last month turning his life upside down with this easy-peasy-marriage-and-divorce. The man deserves a medal, or hazard pay, or both.

I guess we need to talk about last night, he says.

He’s still holding my hands, his thumbs occasionally brushing against my knuckles, and I find the simple gesture comforting. I think it’s safe to assume this situation has spiralled beyond anything either of us expected, and Ruger has never once made me feel like I need to carry it alone. The realization allows me to drop my shoulders a little. I’ve spent so long thinking there’s a right answer hidden somewhere, and if I choose wrong, everything falls apart. But Ruger isn’t looking at me like he’s waiting for me to make a decision. If anything, he looks almost as overwhelmed as I feel.

And it helps knowing I’m not alone at this crossroads.

Yeah, I say quietly. I think we do.

He looks down at our connected hands, then back at me. Should we do a refresher of last night?

A nervous, breathy laugh escapes me. I think we can just continue from where we left off.

And where were we? he asks.

I roll my eyes toward the ceiling. I think we both agreed that we don’t regret the kiss.

He nods. Good job.

I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face. I’m glad that we’re finally talking to each other instead of around each other. No pretending and no awkward silence. Just two adults sitting at a kitchen table, trying to make sense of something we didn’t expect.