“Friends?” he asked.
She clasped her hands in front of her. “Friends.”
He nodded, feeling a weight lifted, and slung his backpack onto the table while she unwrapped the boards. He hung up his coat on the peg next to hers and grabbed two work aprons. With a nod of thanks, she took one and tied it on.
They worked in silence for a time, sorting boards and sketches. Just as he was reaching to gather up the boards ready for the big cuts, she reached in the same direction and their hands met. He pulled away before she did.
“If you don’t mind me asking, how long were you in recovery? For the burns, I mean?”
He paused at the unexpected question, unsure how to answer.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean—”
“Almost a year,” he found himself saying. “At first, I mean, with the physical therapy and everything. Then more skin grafts. More physical therapy. I’m still—” He paused again, hesitant to say more, or not knowing what to say. “I’m still recovering, I guess.” He picked up the boards and began to walk to the band saw. Then he stopped and turned back to Riley. “I don’t mind if you ask me about it.” He was pretty sure he meant it. At least he wasn’t spiraling into a dark place with his back pressed against a wall.
She nodded. When it didn’t look like she was going to say anything, he turned.
“My grandma died on Christmas Eve,” she said.
He stopped.
“I was thirteen. I was alone with her.”
He turned slowly.
She stood looking at the floor, turning a pencil in her hands. She straightened up taller. “My parents had been having these horrible fights and decided to go away together to try to work it out. My grandma and I shared some milk and cookies, and then . . . she had a heart attack. I tried everything, but . . .” She shrugged, looking everywhere but at him. He was used to that from other people, but not from her. “I lost the one place that felt like home to me, and I lost it on Christmas. That was when I stopped believing. I couldn’t wish for anything more after that. I just thought you should know. So you’d understand why I said what I did last night.”
He took a step and set the boards back down. He put his hands into his pockets and shook his head. “Why didn’t you say something then?”
She swallowed. “I’m saying it now.”
He took another step to her, but she took a step back.
“It’s okay,” she said. “I mean, I’m a grown-up. But Christmas—It’s been a long time since I’ve been able to find meaning in it. I’d go through the motions to please my parents when I still lived with them. I thought I’d grow out of it after I left home. You know, leave stuff behind. But some things are still . . .”
“Hard,” he said.
She let out a breath. “Yeah.”
“So, you’re still healing.”
A small smile touched her mouth as she met his gaze. “Yeah.”
He nodded. He looked over their work, trying to focus his thoughts on what to say or do next. Her grandma died on Christmas Eve? And Riley had been alone, without anyone to help? Holy crap. He gestured toward the drawings. “You don’t have to do this.”
“I want to. For your family.”
He nodded again. He fought the urge to gather her up in a big hug, which he was sure she didn’t want.
“For you,” she added.
He looked at her, giving her his left side. Again, her gaze darted everywhere but to him. Even so, he was warmed by her words. He hadn’t realized how much he’d wanted them. Gradually, she met his look, and something passed between them. An undeniable rush of heat pulled at his gut, and he found it hard to breathe. She took a step toward him.
He backed up and started to turn away, grabbing a breath of air without showing it. He felt her hand on his arm. The pressure of it, anyway. He couldn’t feel the actual touch of his sleeve, and he wouldn’t feel her skin on his. How soft it would be on his. Not on that arm.
“Mark?”
He looked down at her hand. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I can’t imagine.” His Christmases, for the most part, had been everything he wished for. “I’m glad you told me.”
“Thanks. I’m sorry about your . . . about what you’ve been through.”
He nodded, fighting the idea that had been sitting in the dark corner of his head since he’d met her—that maybe this was charity work for her. Pity. Would she have stuck around after last night if he didn’t have a road map on the side of his face?
Gainer’s veiled message came to mind. Maybe he was a little “off his game,” but Riley wasn’t like that. Still, the possibility crawled under his skin.
“We all have stuff,” he threw out there. “Hard stuff.” He turned around, grabbing the boards. “Thanks for doing this. It will mean a lot to my family. To the town, I hope.” He gave her a smile, though it felt detached.
She smiled back. But whatever had passed between them, or what he thought had passed, was gone.
“Well,” she said, “what are friends for, right?”
He felt a knot constrict in his chest. “Right.” Friends. Because he was who he was. And that’s all he’d ever be.
Riley finished outlining the last figure—the baby in the manger—to be cut. She glanced toward Mark, working steadily at the saws. He was now making the finishing cuts with a jigsaw, the noise filling the room. She’d felt the heat between them dissipate as soon as they’d ended their earlier conversation. But they were making good time on the project, so maybe this was better.
But there had been heat. It had drawn her to him despite her desire to stay away. Despite the pit growing in her stomach that told her she’d overshared.
And then he’d extinguished it. Just like a fireman, she thought. Putting out fires that
