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“Oliver, wait.” A breathless command, and then fingers curled round his bicep.
He stopped dead. Turned slowly to face her.
“What’s the matter?”
He could not—would not—look at her. “Nothing’s the matter.”
A pause, just his breath and hers suspended in the hot, still air.
“I saw how you—I mean, the photo. You and Leonie, I—I looked at the back of the book—afterwards, and saw—”
“What about it?”
“I—I guess I could sense… seeing that photo was hard for you, and I—”
He stared over her head, teeth clenched.
“I guess I’m trying to say, I get it,” she finished softly.
“Did Mitchell leave you?”
She looked momentarily disoriented. “Um—It was mutual. Maybe more me than him.”
“Then you don’t get it, do you? You haven’t a clue what it’s like.”
Her head jerked like he’d slapped her. “I didn’t mean… that I know what it’s likeexactly, but I—I do know what it means to lose something you want more than anything in the world.”
He laughed bitterly. “Tell me more.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“No, you started this, come on, let’s talk about losing things. People you care about, for instance.”
She stepped closer, and he noticed how her breasts moved fast with her breath. “I came after you because I knew… you were really hurting. That’s all. One human being to another. You don’t have exclusive rights on grief, Oliver.”
As she spun on her heels, immediate remorse flooded him.
Fuck! What was the matter with him? She dealt with grief every day; that gash of a scar a constant reminder. Why was he so intent on smearing her lovely face in the murkiness of his pain?
He called out, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
She stopped, turned around slowly to face him. “It’s okay, Oliver. We all say things we don’t mean when we’re hurting.” And now—look at her, so forgiving, so willing to let it go.
He shook his head. “I’m really sorry. Something in me just snapped back there.”
“Oh dear.” She sighed heavily. “It’s me, isn’t it? The diesel in the tank… and now my cooking. Those chops were the final straw. I’ve driven you batty after only three nights.”
He smiled despite himself. “Not at all.” He shoved his hands onto his hips and stared at the deep glow on the horizon.
“Maybe it’s time to relax a bit, Oliver,” she said gently. “Let go of being in control of everything you feel.”
“You think I do that?”
“I think you try.”
Avoiding looking at her, he said, “Sometimes I think if I relax my life will unravel.”
“Maybe you need to let it.” Softly, she added, “What’s the worst that could happen?”
