“What’s up with you? Something’s different,” Gray muttered almost to himself—but it was true. He’d only been gone a week and a half, yet Mia had . . . changed.
She looked surprised, then grinned sort of shyly and waggled her foot. “It’s just the hot purple boots.”
“It is not the boots,” he groused. “But they’re something else, all right.”
“Something else good, or something else bad?”
Gray wasn’t sure. He was too distracted by her denim clad legs—ah, that was part of the difference maybe. Her clothes. He was used to her baggy sweats and tucked up hair. Seeing her in snug jeans and a low-necked sweater was . . . disconcerting. He was already disturbingly attracted to her when she was in workout gear, sans makeup, sans effort. Now that she was dressing up, or he was around when she was dressed up anyway, he couldn’t help but notice—and he didn’t like it. Or rather, he did like it. That was the problem.
They were sitting on Sockeye’s cozy covered porch with a crackling fire blazing away in the little chiminea. Over their heads, rain pounded a wild beat on the tin roof, streaming from the sky in sheets, not drops.
Gray tried not to think how nice it was to sit and watch the rain with Mia, rather than languishing at his place, listening to it alone. He’d been back for three days and this was his second time seeing her, despite the crazy rain, although they hadn’t resumed lessons yet. He’d stopped by on his way home from the airport, ostensibly to check in with her and to confirm she hadn’t started training with someone else, that she still wanted lessons from him. He knew better than to believe his own excuse though. He’d missed her while he was away. Grieving his friend, helping Tracy with arrangements, enduring the rigmarole of the funeral, etc.—none of it had kept his mind off her. And then today he’d come to see her, well, because he was weak and couldn’t stay away.
“Back in a sec,” she said suddenly, popping out of her seat and disappearing into the cabin. Gray tried not to watch her departure and failed miserably.
“You’re scowling,” she said, when she reappeared a few minutes later, carrying two steaming mugs of hot chocolate.
He set his down on the porch railing. “We have to talk,” he said at the exact same time Mia chirped, “I’m so happy you’re back!”
She obviously heard him because the warm glow in her eyes dimmed a bit.
“Talk about what?” she asked guardedly.
“The little notes, the impromptu visits, our hanging out longer than designated lesson times . . . It all has to stop.”
Mia had been about to sip her cocoa, but now she lowered the brimming mug without a taste. “But why? I thought that we were, maybe, um . . .” Her cheeks flamed as she stumbled over her words, then she repeated herself and finished her sentence in an embarrassed whisper. “I thought we’d become friends.”
Shit, thought Gray. That was the predicament, all right. They had become friends. Or maybe, as she’d sort of implied, even been on their way to flirting with something more. His memory replayed the sweet, awkward high five she’d given him. He knew now, as he had then, how much her voluntarily initiating physical contact meant.
He avoided her eyes. “My best friend since we were eight died last month. I hadn’t seen him face to face in years—not since Celine and Simon’s funeral—and I didn’t call him enough.” He had no idea why he added those last two bits of information.
“I know. Jo told me when she explained you’d be missing some of our sessions. I’m so sorry, Gray. I didn’t bring it up because I figured you wouldn’t want to talk about it, or at least not right away.”
Astute of her. And kind. Two qualities that pretty much epitomized her. And if he did want to talk about it, it would be with her. The fact seared through him.
Gray crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re right, I don’t. But it reminded me, for a lot reasons, why you and I should keep a healthy distance. You’re leaving soon. No good will come of complicating things. If you still want self-defense tips, we can keep meeting, but we should leave it at that.”
Mia focused on her beverage again, first testing the temperature, then taking a large swallow. Was she going to ignore him? Was she preparing to argue? Was her lack of response a way of saying she agreed with him? He couldn’t decide what he hoped for more—that she’d let his request stand, or that she’d call him an idiot and say it was too late, that they were already somehow involved and would have to see how it played out.
She had practically drained her whole mug when she finally lowered it to her lap, hands wrapped tightly around it. “Being a friend, having a friend . . . Would that really complicate things so unbearably?”
Yes, he wanted to yell. If the friend was you, yes. He didn’t yell though. He didn’t even speak. He just shrugged.
Her face was sad. “I guess that makes sense. I came out here, to solitude, to try to find my way back to some semblance of a life. You came out here, went a lot further even, to try to keep life from touching you again.”
He didn’t disagree with her. “I’m not trying to be a dick. It’s just easiest.” “Safest, you mean. No risk of getting hurt or of one of us wanting more than the other person does.”
“Exactly.” He could practically see cogs turning in her head as she considered his words.
She bit her lip. “I agree. Very wise.” She stood and reached for his untouched mug, then sloshed its contents over the railing onto the hard ground. The cocoa mingled with the rain and was gone. “So I guess I’ll see you here Monday at one?” she added, her back to him.
“Yes. Right. Good,” he said.
He saw her nod, though she still wasn’t facing him. She headed for the cabin’s purple door.
“Mia . . .” Gray began, then faltered. He had no idea what he wanted to say. Or what he could say. He was only getting—and she was only giving—what he’d asked for.
Mia started at the sound of her name and turned. Even in the dusk’s fading light, she had noticeably paled. Her voice was tight and uncomfortable. “I totally forgot. There’s a new letter in the tree. I delivered it yesterday. Ignore it, and please don’t worry. I won’t send another.”
He opened his mouth to tell her he was sorry, that she shouldn’t feel self-conscious about the note, that his only “worry” was that he’d like it too much, but she waved a mug to silence him. “Seriously, Gray, I get it. We’re good.”
But they didn’t feel “good.” They felt distanced or like strangers or something. But that’s what he wanted, right? “Okay, then . . . till Monday.”
Mia closed the door behind her, leaving him alone outside.
Gray slid his waterproof pants over his jeans, pulled his slicker on, and did up the hood. He whistled for Wolf. The dog didn’t come. He whistled again. Still no luck. He was half way to the river when Wolf finally made an appearance, panting like he’d been running hard, his breath a steamy smoke in the rapidly cooling air.
Gray detoured to the Secret Keeper. If it was going to be their last secret communication, he should relish it, right?
Because it was nearly dark and the river was swollen with the heavy autumn rains, his preferred trek across the shallow part of the river was out of question—and no doubt would be until spring. Grateful for his rain gear, he took the longer route that incorporated the small makeshift bridge.
When he stepped out onto it, however, it seemed to sway a little. Gray paused, then took another cautious step. Did the boards beneath him give a bit? He bounced lightly where he stood, testing its strength, then took a few more tentative steps. Now everything seemed solid, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. Sometime in the next few weeks, he’d return in the daylight and make sure the bridge didn’t need repair. And who knew? Maybe it was fine. He might be seeing danger where there was genuinely none.