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He places his finger to my lips effectively cutting me off. “No point in worrying now. What’s done is done.”
Tears have welled up in my eyes. I blink them back. Hold them in. They run out the sides anyway. Grant shakes his head and leaves the cabin.
This time he returns sooner. And with flowers. “No lilies this time,” he chuckles offering them to me. “It’s slim pickings way out here.” He leans down and kisses my cheek. He’s chipper. A different man than the one who left the cabin earlier. I want to leave. I hate to ask. It only proves my guilt.
“I’m sorry to worry you,” he tells me, opening the fridge. I watch as he removes a bottle of champagne. “Like I said, you scare me.” He places it on the counter and glances in my direction. “The way I feel about you—” He pauses and shakes his head. He looks away. “You know what?”
I don’t, but I want to. My eyes are on his. He’s on stage, and I’m captivated by the performance.
He breaks out in full grin. “How about we save that conversation for later? Let’s eat. I bet you’re starving…”
I nod. But I don’t say anything. I don’t know what to say.
“How well do you know the Bible?” he asks as he readies dinner.
I would have done it, but I wasn’t sure when he was coming back. I want to tell him this but nothing sounds right in my head so I don’t.
He raises his brow, and I realize he’s waiting for an answer.
“Probably not well enough.”
“There’s one in the drawer there. Instead of that magazine,” he motions. “You might consider switching it up a bit.”
I press my lips together.
“Do you regret coming?” he asks. His face grows solemn. “I realize I’m intense Isobel. I know it can be too much for some people. Especially so soon…”
I narrow my gaze. Suddenly, I hone in on the flowers and the bottle of champagne he’s holding.
“I—”
“Wait—” he says suspending one hand in the air. “I hope you like strawberries.”
“Yes,” I tell him. I don’t regret coming. I don’t want him to feel bad. Not after all of this.
He wipes the back of his hand across his forehead. “Whew,” he says laughing playfully. “So, you aren’t ready to head for the hills?”
I shake my head. “I’m having a great time.”
“Izzy,” Grant says waking me from sleep. I groan. I think he wants sex again. I’m sore. He’s a machine. “Izzy,” he calls shaking my shoulder. “Please explain this.”
I open my eyes. He’s holding my phone. My heart races. I panic.
He tosses the phone in my direction. “Maybe I was right,” he says pacing the length of the bedroom. “Maybe this is too much too soon…”
“What do you mean?” I ask, wiping the sleep from my eyes, even though I’m so awake my hair stands on end.
He sighs long and heavy. He isn’t angry. He’s sad. “I just don't think you're that serious about being with me…”
“Of course, I'm serious,” I say. My throat constricts, and I ball my fists. Flex them a few times. I feel it building, that familiar feeling, and try to stuff it down. I don’t know what he’s seen. I force myself to remember what I deleted. It helps that I have a shit phone with zero memory. So I hope most of it.
“Then why are you texting that guy? Just last
week. And more importantly, why is he texting you asking if he can come over?”
“He’s my friend.”
“Bullshit.” His voice comes out harsh and sudden.
