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“Would you like to sit here and eat?” he asked, indicating a small rise in front of the stable. He didn’t think that she knew that he had bought her horse. He didn’t even know if she owned her when he bought her. Almost certainly she didn’t know that he had Goldie in his possession now since they’d both had other people handle the sale for them. Unusual, sure, but not unheard of. He could ask if she knew. But he wanted to apologize before they got distracted by her horse.
“That’s fine,” she said, sounding disinterested and like she truly didn’t care where they ate or even if they did, although he heard her stomach growl twice on their walk, loud enough to be heard over the breeze that blew almost constantly from the lake.
“All right,” he said, and then as they stopped, he said, “I’m sorry. I never thought to bring a blanket.”
“It’s okay. I don’t need one.”
“We ate on the beach all the time when we were kids, and a blanket was the last thing we ever thought of.”
A little smile tilted up the corners of her mouth, but she still looked more like she was headed toward the Inquisition than having lunch with an old friend.
He waited for her to sit down, then sat beside her, but not too close, getting her food out, and then his, and giving them each a bottle of water. He prayed for the food and waited for her to open it.
“Griff is making strawberry rhubarb biscuits today. He has a cream cheese spread they’re serving along with it, and I got some of that too. He wasn’t a part of Strawberry Sands when we were growing up, but he’s known for coming up with some really great combinations.”
“Sounds good,” she said, digging into her food like she was either starving or determined to get through it so she could leave.
The biscuits smelled good, along with the chicken salad and honey dressing Griff had to go with them. But he let his food lie in his lap.
“I wanted to apologize.” There. He didn’t have the fancy words to lead up to it, but he needed to say it, and so he would.
She pushed her hair back away from her face, then finished buttering the biscuit.
“You don’t need to apologize,” she said, and there was disinterest in her voice.
“I do. I... I wanted to. I needed to. I... I feel guilty for what I did.”
“Well, don’t. Those things happen. Lots of people do what we did. Obviously.” She rolled her eyes.
“I don’t do what we did. And it wasn’t right for you.”
“Fine. But you don’t need to apologize for it.”
“I ruined our friendship.”
“I was there too. It wasn’t just you.” She sounded a little angry.
“I know. I wasn’t trying to minimize your role. I was trying to take responsibility.”
“You don’t have to. The responsibility is on both of our shoulders. We were consenting adults, and we had sex. That happens.”
She tossed her hair over her shoulder and put the biscuit in her mouth, chewing like she was being forced to and not like she enjoyed it.
He looked down at the food in his lap. She’d reduced what they did to what it was, but... It had been a little more than that to him.
“We didn’t used to be like this. We used to...like each other.” He gritted his teeth. “That night changed what we had, and I wanted to apologize for that.”
“It wasn’t that night that changed things,” she said, after she swallowed. She picked up her fork and dug into her food.
“It was. It did.”
She held a forkful in midair and looked at him, her eyes narrowed. “No. It wasn’t.”
“Things have changed, though. Am I right?”
“It was the phone call. That’s what changed everything.” She shoved food in her mouth and turned her face toward the lake, refusing to look at him.
The phone call. That changed everything?
