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She leans in. “Gray. This is her older sister talking. One who will protect her until the sun burns away this earth. Don’t hurt her,” Raya says, with a warning tone. “She’s been hurt enough.”
The thought of that ticks me off. How anyone, like that creep of an ex of hers, could hurt her, I can’t understand. It would be like kicking a puppy.
And Raya is standing here, thinking I’m the kind of guy who would do that. Who could do that.
She’s right about one thing, I don’t treat people well.
Eloise’s whole world is people. If I’m honest, other than Scarlett, people haven’t really been my priority. By design. People—relationships—require time and energy and emotion that I don’t have.
“Look. I appreciate you being direct. But you’ve got the wrong idea,” I say, leveling her gaze. “I’m not looking to get into a relationship with Eloise, or anyone else. I don’t date during the season. Period. That hasn’t changed just because we kissed a couple of times. She and I aren’t even really friends.”
Do I really believe any of that?
Raya draws in a breath. “Good. Just make sure she knows it.”
“She does.”
She gives me a firm nod as Eloise walks in the kitchen with an armload of serving dishes.
And I walk out, hoping she didn’t hear a word I just said.
After dinner, Scarlett falls asleep in the backseat as we drive back to the city.
I spend the whole ride missing Eloise’s chatter. She’s quiet again, and I hate it. Maybe Raya warned her off, too.
I could try to start a conversation.
Because I’m great at that.
I could tell her she was right about me needing to relax, or thank her for sharing her hometown with me and Scarlett, or including us in her family meal again, or about a million other things.
I could even take her advice and ask her questions about herself. Or tell her something real about me.
But I don’t do any of those things. It’s hard for me, and every time I come close to talking, I stop. I feel stupid, somehow, or, I don’t know, vulnerable?
It’s easier to just stay silent.
Once we get back to my place, I feel like I’m performing surgery to extract Scarlett out of the car without waking her. In retrospect, I should’ve just woken her, made her walk upstairs and trusted she’d fall asleep again, but it’s hard to admit she’s too old to be carried now.
I get her settled in her bright turquoise, half-decorated room, sliding her under a soft comforter with fluffy pink flowers on it. I quickly glance around the room, feeling like Eloise already captured Scarlett’s personality, and they’ve only just begun working on the space.
How does she do that?
I close the door and walk out to the living room, where I find Eloise sitting, still wearing her coat, but looking like she wants to say something.
I take off my coat and hang it up, then sit down in an armchair next to her.
She stares at her hands, folded in her lap. Why isn’t she talking?
The silence is killing me. “How’s the hand?” I ask.
She gives her head a little shake. “Oh, fine.”
A pause. A frown.
“I just wanted to tell you again how sorry I am,” she says quietly.
“For what?”
