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“Why are youhere,though?”
“You’ve asked me this before, remember?” he said.
“I know. I got a bullshit answer then, and you’re trying to give me another one now.”
He sat up straight and looked out over the lake. For a while, he fiddled with the straps on his gloves. Then, with a long exhale, he deflated.
“Bottled water,” he finally said.
Rowan waited.
When he continued, his tone sounded bleak, the words practiced and measured. Like he’d recited them dozens of times. “I lost a patient in April.” He wrung his hands. “Ah, she wasn’t actuallymypatient. It’s a long story. Changed my perspective on a lot of things. I’d only been practicing a year. I have my medical license, but I’m not board certified yet. Did you know doctorshave to take a qualification exam before theactualcertifying board exam? Failed that in June. Results didn’t come until September, but I knew I was bombing, even as I was taking it.”
Even with the heavy gloves on, Rowan saw a tremor in his hands.
“After that exam, I’d been holed up at home for about three weeks, and I’d run out of food. At the grocery, I’d been standing in the bottled water aisle so long a manager came over to ask if I needed help. Like he was some kind of fucking bottled water sommelier. I think I was scaring other shoppers, the unwashed skinny guy, standing there, staring at water. Pretty sure I had flannel pajama pants on, you’d have loved it.” A long pause, a sad smile. “I had three cartons of ice cream in the cart, must’ve had them in there sideways, because they’d started melting into a puddle on the floor.”
The tremble in his hands turned into a full-body shudder. Rowan reached out to lay a hand on his knee. He glanced down at it, didn’t touch her back. He dragged his bottom lip through his teeth and picked up a pebble to chuck it down the hill.
“Why do so many brands of bottled water exist? Why do we need that many options?” He threw another pebble, harder this time. “People all over the world have to drink water that might be full of disease, or full of lead. And we’re regularly paying three goddamned dollars for sixteen ounces of it, just because the plastic bottle is square with pretty flowers on it.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw.
“I was so fucking mad about it. The frivolity of—everything. I left. Left the full cart there with the manager, all of it. Just—walked away.”
Rowan stayed silent, leaving her hand on his knee.
“As soon as Ma and Dad bought this place, they started working on me to come stay here. For months, they called me every other day. When Ma threatened to send Nate and Duncan afterme, I caved. Few days after I arrived, Ma was pissed I wasn’t eating her dinners. Took it as a personal attack, said I was wasting away. So, she and Dad took me to that fancy pasta place in Linden. While we waited on a table, I sat at the bar and listened to two women talk about how they had to ‘unfollow’ someone’sdogon Instagram, whatever the fuck that means. I actually looked around for a camera, to see if I was on a prank show. I couldn’t believe it was something adults would waste energy getting upset about.”
He took off his gloves and popped his knuckles in agitation.
“Later in the evening, the dickhead at the table beside us ripped into the waiter, really gave her absolute hell, because his steak was cookedmediuminstead of medium rare, and there wasn’t enough shredded cheese on his fucking side salad.”
Harrison picked up a twig and snapped it into tiny pieces. Then another, and another, throwing the fragments into the dirt before them.
“So much of what we think is important is—pointless.” His voice cracked on the final word.
They were quiet for a long time while he mutilated more twigs.
“Well,” Rowan began, her tone light, “some of those celebrity dogs on social media are notoriously narcissistic. I get tired of their shit too, but they’re notnearlyas insufferable as the cats are.”
Harrison’s fingers froze on a stick, midsnap.
She continued, “And honestly, that guy at the restaurant was an ass for thinking he could get a decent steak at a pasta place. It’s his own fault.”
Little pieces of wood fell from Harrison’s hands like melancholy confetti. He’d gone unnaturally still, disbelief settling on his features. Rowan went cold inside and slid her hand off his leg, mentally kicking herself for being too glib, too insensitive.He slowly turned his head to look at her with pure, baffled amusement.
His laugh was abrupt. The sound of it echoed down the valley below, rich and warm and delicious as mulled wine. A startled flock of sparrows exploded from the vineyard behind them. Rowan cautiously smiled back.
Laughter faded, and his eyes tracked straight to her mouth. Lingered.
The dials on her senses cranked all the way up. Against the drab winter landscape, Harrison seemed more immediate, more alive than reality itself. He was close enough she smelled fresh coffee and caramel on his breath, and his clothes were infused with the cold, mineral bite of winter air. Beneath the edges of his wool hat, the upturned tips of his hair peeked out behind his ears.
He dampened his bottom lip with the tip of his tongue. It was impossible to mistake what she saw on his face in that moment. If she didn’t move, Harrison Brady was going to kiss the hell out of her, and she’d kiss him back.
Desperate longing and desperate anxiety clashed in her mind, and she remembered Temperance’s words.
“Casual and uncomplicated. I promise you, Harry is neither of those things.”
