She nodded, setting one half down and picking up the second. “What did that tell you?”
“I guess that I carry around a lot of guilt, which I’ve done my best to ignore.” I scratched my head. “I’m good at burying painful stuff so I don’t have to deal with it.”
“You just move on instead?”
I nodded. “Yes. Much easier to pack up and go somewhere else, do something else, be someone else, than to stay in one place and face myself. Although honestly, I don’t think I realized what I was doing. I’d just get that restless feeling, like I was cooped up and had to get out, and I’d take off.”
“It’s funny that you’re so perceptive of other people, but not of yourself. Don’t you think?” She looked up at me as she put a little water on the bottom of a baking tray.
“Yeah. But there was a reason, you know?”
“Self-preservation?”
I frowned. “I guess. When you put it like that, I’m an even bigger asshole, aren’t I?”
She set the squash halves on the tray, cut side down. “I don’t think you’re an asshole at heart. I think you were probably dealt a shitty hand from the start and you never really worked through it. Instead, you acted out. Drifted. Pretended to be someone else. It all kept you from having to turn the focus inward.”
Nodding slowly, I watched her stick the tray in the oven and set the timer. She looked so cute in her pajamas. I wanted to hold her again so badly, but I’d promised not to touch and I intended to keep my word. “I think you’re right.”
“Know what else I think?”
“What?”
Finally she stopped moving and stood opposite me, her hands on the counter between us. “I’m really sorry about what you and your brother went through as kids.” Her eyes were wet. “Every time I think of it, I want to cry.”
My instinct was to change the subject, but instead I took another deep breath. “Thanks. It was rough.”
She bit her bottom lip, and I stared at it, the memory of her mouth on mine assailing all my senses. “Do you want to talk about it at all?” she asked gingerly.
“Fuck no. But I will.”
She smiled ruefully as a tear leaked from each eye. Quickly wiping them away as if she was embarrassed, she came around the counter. “I know I said no touching. But I really need to give you a hug.”
I stood up and she came into my arms, rising up on her toes to loop her arms around my neck. I wrapped my arms around her and buried my face in her sweet-smelling hair, choking up when I realized she was still struggling not to cry.
I wanted to tell her it was OK, I was fine, I’d survived, and I was going to do better. But I couldn’t speak—my throat was too tight.
Instead we just held each other. And it was enough.
* * *
After dinner, when I finally got to taste the sweet, spicy chili that had been tantalizing me for hours, I helped Claire do the dishes. “I really need to learn how to cook,” I told her as I scrubbed out the pot. “That was amazing. I would never have thought to use a squash like a bowl.”
“I’m happy to give you the recipe.” She loaded some silverware into the dishwasher. “It’s very easy, just involves a lot of chopping and simmering time.”
“I need to get a big pot like this too.” It was thick and heavy and made of enamel.
“A Dutch oven,” she said. “Yes, you definitely need one of those.”
I smiled. “I’ll have to learn all the fancy names for everything too. And speaking of fancy, this is not a cabin.”
“It’s made of logs, isn’t it?” But she was laughing.
“Yeah, about fifty thousand of them.” I rolled my eyes. “Cabins do not have two-story cathedral ceilings, big screen televisions, or decks.”
“Well, that’s what we’ve always called it.” She shut the dishwasher and turned it on. “It’s a family tradition and my mother takes those very seriously, so it’s not about to change.”
Family traditions. I had zero of those, unless you counted skipping out on people. Failing them. “You came up here a lot when you were growing up?”
She leaned back against the counter next to me. “Yes. Tomorrow I’ll show you my favorite trails for kissing.”
I burst out laughing. “For what?”
“Hiking,” she said, her cheeks turning scarlet. “I meant hiking.”
“Too bad.” I looked down at her, nearly nose to nose. “I like kissing.”
A hushed moment of tension.
“Uh, I’ll show you where you can sleep.” She hurried away from me, moving around the counter and into the great room. “There’s a nice bedroom downstairs with a view of the lake.”
The only view I wanted was one with her in it, but I nodded politely. “Perfect. Thank you.”
“Did you bring a bag?” she asked, looking around.
“It’s still in the car. I’ll grab it.” I grabbed my keys from my coat pocket. “I wasn’t sure you were going to let me stay.”
“I wasn’t even going to let you in,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest and stepping back as I passed her. “But you wore me down.”
“Wasn’t that hard,” I teased, walking backward toward the door. “Softie.”
“I am a softie.” She stood up taller. “I can admit it. And I believe in second chances.”