Page 44 of Afterglow

What I want is for her to want that.

But this isn’t about what I want; this is about her.

So, I follow her lead, and when she rakes her eyes down my body, over the thermal I’m wearing untucked with my wranglers, I offer her a warm smile and move a few inches closer. Making the first move but giving her the space to decide what happens next.

To my surprise, she steps into me and rests her head against my chest.

My inner lovesick fool does a fist pump and an end zone celly dance because she initiated contact and I’m going to run with it.

I bring my arms around her, wishing the takeout bag wasn’t keeping me from embracing her fully. I nuzzle my nose against her hair and take in the smell of her shampoo. Rosemary and something softer, like lilac, overtake my senses. Her deep inhale presses her tighter against my chest and tells me she’s breathing in my scent as well. Can she feel my heart beating erratically where we’re connected?

“Hiya, blondie,” I say, gently rubbing my free hand up and down her spine. It’s heaven to be able to touch her.

She arches her back to look up and I hate the sadness around her eyes—not a glare in sight for my use of her favorite nickname. “Hey.”

“Let’s get you some food, yeah?”

She steps away with a nod, and my body instantly misses her presence. But I can hold her later, for as long as she wants. Right now, she needs to eat.

I lay out the contents of the takeout bag on the counter, and she reaches for the Styrofoam tub.

“Is this soup?” Her eyes brighten with interest.

I nod. “Tomato basil. It’s good with the grilled cheese. Or it will reheat well tomorrow.”

“Thank you.” She says it so genuinely I get an odd flutter in my stomach. Then she peels back the lid of the container and nervously sniffs the contents. Her shoulders relax and she sighs. “This smells amazing.”

“I’m glad. Have you been feeling sick again?”

“Not exactly…” She chews her lip, and instead of answering further, grabs a spoon. Without bothering to transfer it to a bowl, she heads for the couch with it.

I slide her sandwich onto a plate and follow her. “What do you mean not exactly? If the meds aren’t helping anymore, you should let Becca know.”

She shakes her head. “It’s not the meds.” She lifts the spoon to her mouth and the first bite is cautious, like she doesn’t trust it won’t make her sick. But after the first swallow, she sinks back, releasing a groan. “This is exactly what I needed. Thank you again.”

“You’re welcome. Now answer my question.”

“You’re so bossy,” she snarks, slurping another bite of soup off her spoon. “I found my first food aversion tonight.”

“Okay…” Now we’re getting somewhere. “What happened?” I ask.

She sets down her spoon and sighs. “My dad cooked beef tenderloin for dinner. It’s always been a favorite of mine, but it looks like this one”—she flattens a palm against her stomach—“is not a fan. The smell alone sent me running for the bathroom.”

“Ah, I assume that led to… questions?” I ask, and she nods. “I’m sorry, Leanne.”

She shrugs like it’s no big deal, but I know it is. She wasn’t ready to tell them. No wonder she was so upset when she called me.

She called me. That fact still makes my chest puff up with warmth and pride.

“They’re upset about it?” I ask, inching closer to her on the couch and letting my elbows rest against my knees.

She hangs her head and turns away from me. I fucking hate it. I don’t want her to hide from me, ever.

“I don’t really know how they feel about it. I didn’t get a chance to find out before I walked out.”

But why? I want to shout, but I carefully ask for what I need instead. “You’ve got to give me a bit more to go off of here.”

She shifts uncomfortably before finally meeting my gaze. “They assumed I must’ve gotten back with Craig, or at least that we… you know…”