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Archer rubs his temple. “That’s the first time Jake has said her name out loud since,” his hand waves in the air, “since she died, as far as I’m aware.”
“Ah.”
We sit in silence for a minute while I have an internal struggle with what I should do. Should I stay? Should I go? Concern for Mindy nibbles at me, pressuring me to go out and find her and make sure she’s okay.
Archer stands. “I’m going to check on him. Feel free to stay, or,” Archer’s head tilts toward the front door, “if you want to check on Mindy, we can clean this up later.”
“I’ll get the dishes started, at least. I don’t mind.”
“Hey, thanks. And thanks for coming over, and I’m sorry about. . .” he gestures vaguely.
“It’s not a problem.” I lift my brows and nod to the stairs. “Good luck.”
Archer heads upstairs.
I push my chair back and stack plates, piling silverware on top. In the kitchen, I load as much as I can into the dishwasher, working quickly. The need to race after Mindy to make sure she’s all right is like an itch under my skin.
Once the dishwasher is loaded up and running, I grab my coat from the rack and Mindy’s —since she went out the front, she left it behind—and slip out the side door.
Jumping in the golf cart, I head back down the drive toward my cabin at a snail’s pace. I don’t want to miss her in the darkness, so I keep my eyes peeled.
Halfway there, I come to a halt outside of one of the sitting areas, flames flickering in the fire pit. She’s standing in front of it, holding her hands out to the fire.
I park the cart off to the side and pocket the keys as I approach. “Do you want some company?”
“I don’t care.” Her tone is brisk, icier than the breeze winging through the trees around us.
She’s embarrassed. I know it’s not about me, but I had hoped at this point we could be honest with each other. Working on my songs together has been like opening up a tender, fragile part of myself and trusting her not to drop it. I had hoped the trust that was building between us was mutual.
I rock back on my heels. “Did you want your coat?”
“I’m fine.”
It’s going to be a cold walk back to the house, but I’m sure she knows that. I walk over, place it on the bench near her, and then turn to leave.
I make it three steps.
“Wait, Luke.”
I twist around.
Her arms are crossed over her chest, her eyes downcast. “I’m sorry about dinner. I know that couldn’t have been comfortable for you. And then I left you there. I’m sorry. That was . . . messed up.”
“I have sisters, too. Our official family motto is: Well, that escalated quickly.”
She laughs, the sound short and abrupt but real.
I duck my head, staring down at my boots.
“Do you want some s’mores?”
I glance up, trying to read her expression, limned with the flickering flames, but she’s carefully blank.
“Yeah. That would be great.”
She walks over to a nearby outdoor cabinet, opens up one of the tall cupboards and pushes on a puck light. “What kind of chocolate do you want?”
I follow her, peering into the opening over her head. “You have more than one kind?”
