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“No…”
“It’s true. Want some tea?”
“Sure,” she says. “As long as it doesn’t keep me up at night.”
“Not this stuff,” I tell her, grabbing an extra teabag for her and pouring her a cup. “There’s no caffeine in Chamomile. I have to be up at five-thirty in the morning.”
“Why?”
I stroll over to her, handing her the mug. Our fingers brush against each other as she takes it from me, and I don’t want to look away from her eyes. They swallow me whole and I’m more than willing to go.
“Work,” I tell her, my voice low. “The cows need milking, the ewes need to be checked on. My uncle will do some, I’ll do the rest.”
She bites her lip for a moment. “Can I help?”
I can’t help but grin. “You want to get up that early and help on the farm?”
“Why not?” she says with a shrug, walking around me and taking a seat at the breakfast table. “You’re letting me stay here and eat your food and drink your cider, it’s the least I can do.”
“Yeah, but,” I start, sitting down across from her. I have to pause because the sight of us both at the table, steaming mugs of tea in our hands, in my kitchen, in Norway, is nothing sort of astounding. And more than that, it feels right.
If only I could do right by her. This time.
“But what?” she asks.
I cup my palms around the mug. “But you’re my guest here. You don’t have to do anything. You don’t have to lift a finger.”
She smiles shyly, a thick strand of hair falling across her cheek. It takes everything in me not to reach across the table and tuck it behind her ear. To feel what her hair feels like again. To be that close. My fingers are practically itching.
I sip my tea instead, even though it scalds my throat.
“You know I’m helping you tomorrow, don’t you,” she says after a moment.
“I had a feeling,” I admit. Stubborn as always.
I wish we could sit there for hours, just so I have an excuse to talk to her, stare at her and just be.
But Astrid and Lise soon come barging through, giggling and drunk, and take over the kitchen in a flurry of activity. The quiet moments between us are gone.
Later, after dinner, when it’s dark and the stars are out and it’s time for bed, I go down the hall. I can hear Lise and Astrid talking in Lise’s room. Uncle Per is snoring. Shay’s door is closed but light shines from underneath.
I pause outside, hoping I’m not interrupting.
I knock on her door. “Shay?” I say softly.
I hear the floorboards creak.
The door opens.
She’s in pajamas and a lacey white camisole that sets her skin off like fire. Her face is makeup free, making her look younger, vulnerable. Beautiful.
And to think someone like her is still searching for her happiness.
She’s staring up at me with curious eyes.
I smile at her softly, trying to keep my gaze focused on her face. “Just wanted to double check that you hadn’t changed your mind about tomorrow. Next time I’ll be knocking on this door it will be four forty-five in the morning.”
Her mouth drops for a moment. “You said five-thirty.”
“I said you have to be up at five-thirty. You’re going to press snooze more than a few times. Unless you think you can’t handle it.”
“Oh, I can handle it. I’ll be up and ready to go even before you knock,” she fires back, her hand on the edge of the door.
“All right then,” I tell her. “We’ll be up with the sparrows. Good night, Shay.”
“Good night,” she says, and I turn around before I see her close the door on me.
I walk down the hall, exhaling slowly, the floorboards creaking beneath my feet.
Lise’s door opens and Astrid pokes her head out.
“Hey,” Astrid whispers harshly, and walks after me.
“What?” I ask, pausing at my door.
She taps me on the shoulder, even though she already has my attention.
“I want to have a word with you,” she says, and looks down the empty hall and back. “It’s about Shay.”
I raise my brow. “What about her?”
“What did you do to her?”
I frown, swallowing thickly. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t know,” she says, shaking her head. Her eyes narrow, a few millimeters away from her death glare. “Girls can sense things. You fucked her over, didn’t you? What did you do? Cheat on her?”
Shame is a cancer of the heart
Eating away
Until your chest is empty
And the only thing that beats
That keeps you alive
Is hate.
“It was a long time ago,” I tell her quietly. “High school, Astrid. You know how I was.”
“I know how you were before you left, and I know you were even worse when you came back.”
“What’s your point?” I’m getting fed up with her in my business, especially the past.
