Page 30 of Broken Cedar

For one terrifying second, I forget how to act like a normal person. Colt doesn’t. He keeps chopping vegetables like my mother hasn’t just walked into the kitchen and unknowingly stepped within inches of the biggest secret of my life.

“Just the usual jobs that needed to be done.” Colt says.

I help her unpack groceries and listen to her chatting about her day—the donation drop, the neighbor who invited her for tea, the gossip from town.

Dinner is simple. We sit at the table—the same table where, this morning, Colt had me completely undone—and pass dishes like nothing happened. Like the wood beneath our plates hasn’t been witness to things that would make my mother’s hair turn white.

“So,” Mom says, serving herself more potatoes. “What did you two get up to today?”

I nearly choke on my water. Colt’s fork pauses halfway to his mouth

“Not much,” I say quickly. “Fixed some fence. Checked the north pasture. Went for a swim in the creek. The usual.”

Colt takes another bite of his food and says nothing.

“Colt showed me Copper,” I add hastily. “I can’t believe he’s still here.”

Mom’s face softens. “Oh, honey. That horse has been spoiled rotten for years. Colt brushes him every Sunday like clockwork. Doesn’t matter if it’s raining or snowing or the apocalypse is happening. Sunday is Copper day.”

I look at Colt. He’s staring at his plate like it contains the secrets of the universe.

“Someone had to,” he mumbles.

Mom registers his reaction and changes the subject by telling us about the neighbor’s new grandson. Colt says almost nothing, which is normal, except I can feel him watching me when he thinks no one’s looking.

We’re clearing plates when it happens. Mom is stacking dishes, humming something under her breath, and she casually says, “It’s been nice hearing you two laugh again. I’ve missed that sound.”

The kitchen goes quiet. Colt sets a plate in the sink and turns on the water. His shoulders have gone rigid.

“I laugh all the time,” I say defensively.

“Not like you do when you two are together.” She says, passing Colt another plate to wash. “The two of you, you’ve always had your own language. Your own rhythm. It’s good to hear it again.”

I busy myself with wiping down the counter. Colt is scrubbing the plate. Neither of us responds. What would we say? Yes, we’re laughing again. Yes, we’re speaking the same language. Also, we’ve had sex several times now, and I’m starting to think I might never leave.

Mom thankfully doesn’t notice the tension as she excuses herself to call a friend. Colt and I are left with the dishes. Standing side by side at the sink, his shoulder against mine, passing wet plates to dry.

“She doesn’t know,” I say quietly, wiping the plate dry.

“I know.” He mutters, handing me another.

“We’re not—I mean, it’s not—”

“Hallie.” He stops and looks at me. His eyes are steady. “It’s okay.”

Is it? I’m not sure. Nothing about wanting my stepbrother should feel this natural. And yet it does. But even if it all stops when I leave, I never really stopped to consider what would happen if Mom finds out. We haven’t exactly been subtle about it.

We finish the dishes in silence. But underneath it, humming like a live wire, is the knowledge that we’ve been seen. That whatever this is—whatever we’ve agreed to call it for this week—is visible to other people now.

“I’m gonna check the barn,” he says. “Make sure everything’s closed up for the night.”

“Okay.”

He pauses at the kitchen door and looks back at me. He doesn’t say anything. I watch him go, the screen door swinging shut behind him with a sound I’ve heard ten thousand times.

It’s nice hearing you two laugh again.

God. If only she knew what else we’ve been doing.