“Nope.”
“Because you have something to say.”
“Yep.”
“Then say it.”
She opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it. Closed it.
He might have enjoyed watching her squirm, if not for the tension gripping him as if his skin were three sizes too small. For while she was a pace to his right, he could feel her. The warmth of her. The peculiar, golden light of her.
“Fine,” he said, his spare hand gripping the back of his neck. “I’ll say it. I accept your apology. For leaving the way you did. In fact, I’ll go so far as to thank you. Thank you for leaving.”
She blinked at his bluntness. But he was on a roll now.
“You had an opportunity and you took it. You did what I’d never have had the foresight to do: you saw beyond the hand we’d been dealt, and demanded more. I demanded more too, once you were gone. I demanded more of the town. Of myself. And it paid off. I have a good life now, Sutton. Janie too. So...thank you.”
He stopped to take a breath. It was a heck of a lot more words than he was used to saying in one go. And as he breathed, something dark and dicey skittered behind Sable’s eyes. Ghosts in her gaze.
Reminding him that this wasn’t the naïve seventeen-year-old he’d once known.
He owed her nothing. And to be honest, she didn’t owe him anything either. Things had ended, not in the most ideal way. But were endings ever ideal?
She was no more to him than a memory, now. No longer his responsibility. No longer his to protect.
“So, are we done?” he asked, no longer concerned if his words made dents. “Have you got what you came for? Because I really need to get on with my day.”
She gripped her coffee hard. Her fingers long and lean, the nails almost blue.
Unprotected, a memory swarmed over him. Taking those cold hands in his, blowing warm air onto her palms, rubbing heat back into her fingertips, kissing the tips...
“This must be so strange for you,” she said, snapping him back to the present. The feathers on her coat fluttering and settling, as if the ripples of her return now affected the very air around them. “My, just showing up, after all this time. And the last thing I want to do is seem obtuse. Or as if I don’t appreciate how nice you’re being.”
Nice? If this was her version of nice, he wished he could come face to face with the jerk who’d skewed her opinion on that score.
But no. Again, she was no longer his to protect. Perhaps he ought to set an alarm on his phone. Repeat hourly. Till she was gone.
“Rafe,” she said, taking a step closer, those vivid eyes flickering with more thoughts than he could possibly translate. “You want to know what I came for? Fair enough. What I want...”
She stopped. Glanced over his shoulder as the sound of the quad bike rolled up behind the caravan and shut down.
Knowing Janie, knowing how ripples messed with her composure, Rafe moved closer to the Airstream.
“I’m hungry,” said Sable, matching his steps. “Are you hungry? Of course you are. You were always hungry. Can we go get breakfast somewhere? My shout. Or at least let me get you a coffee you’ll actually drink.”
“I don’t remember you being this pushy.”
“That’s the LA in me, baby. It’s the quick and the dead.”
A smile hooked unexpectedly at the corner of her mouth. He’d forgotten how it did that. First a dimple appearing in her right cheek, a lift at the right corner, then the rest followed. Like a sunrise.
Her beauty had been more subtle back then. She’d been more subtle. A little shy, a silent witness to life rather than the kind to dive right in. Deeply sensitive, which was what had made her such a great photographer. The ability to see richness where others saw nothing at all.
The kind of person you’d notice out of the corner of your eye. Till one day you realised they were no longer beside you, and the loss was like a crater in your gut.
Add a dash of confidence, a splash of experience, and honed edges and the effect was like a sledgehammer. A sledgehammer who wasn’t going anywhere till she’d said her piece.
He took another step towards the Airstream. As did she.
“Wait here,” said Rafe. “The alternative is you following me inside while I get dressed.”
Her chest lifted and fell. Her throat worked so hard he was surprised she didn’t pull a muscle. “I’ll wait. Not moving from this spot.”
Rafe jogged up the stairs. Nudged his way through the small galley kitchen to the smaller washroom. Listing, in his mind, all the things he’d already missed by sticking around even one extra day.
Three impending sales of completed vintage car refurbishments that he had to physically sign off on. Requests to eyeball several possible restoration commissions. Council paperwork for the local car show Janie helped him organise. He was known not only for his workmanship, but his professionalism. He did not let things get out of control.
So, coffee. A little food. He’d hear her out. Shake her hand. Make her think all was forgiven. And get on with his life.
For it was a fine life. Perfectly satisfying.
He imagined Janie rolling her eyes at such a comment. Her voice dripping in sarcasm: Sounds like a dream come true.
As a kid contentment hadn’t even been in his vocabulary, much less his plans. As for authority? Respect? Success? Big words for better people.
But now he had them, and nothing was taking them away.
Rafe turned off the water, skin prickling with goosebumps. He grabbed one of the small floral towels Janie kept on the “guest” rail and ran it hard over his hair. Stopping when he thought he heard voices. Female voices.
Janie had found Sable. And let her inside.
“Dammit.”
The Airstream was hardly guest friendly. It was compact, open plan. Meaning he either had to hide
