Page 44 of Echoes in the Storm
“I think I understand.”
The silence between our stunted dialogue echoes louder with each pause we take. Maybe two tough nights in a row, when it comes to conversation, isn’t such a flash idea.
“Any clue what we should make for dinner tonight?” I ask, putting as much cheer into my words as I can.
“You pick.” His eyes find mine, the expression there not one I can read. Is he irritated that I asked about his dad? Is he annoyed to still be here? Is he pissed that I’ve essentially avoided talking about what happened this morning and placed us squarely back in the “friends” box?
“Well, tomorrow will be a meal on the run because I’ve got a fundraising event to be at straight after work, so I guess I should pick something healthy tonight to make sure I’m not eating too much junk. Not that I was thinking of doughnuts and candy or anything insane like that, but you know what I mean.”
Duke smiles.
“What?” I ask. Why is talking about dinner so amusing? “You asked me what I wanted us to have for dinner, and I was thinking out loud instead of sitting here looking rude, as though I was ignoring you.”
“Nothing, Cam.”
“Didn’t look like nothing. I mean, you wouldn’t just smirk at me like that if it was. You must have thought about something amusing to start smiling like an idiot.”
He keeps going, his lips spreading into a wicked grin.
“Tell me,” I cry, nudging his knee with my foot. “Do I have something on my face? Is my hair all blown into a bird’s nest?” I feign shock. “I know—there’s someone behind me, isn’t there.”
He chuckles, pushing off the seat to stand. “Nah, babe.” His fingertips brush my knee as he passes by on his way to the kitchen. “It’s nice seeing you back to normal, is all.”
“Normal?” I ask, following him. “What do you mean by ‘normal’?”
He takes a bottle of water from the fridge and holds it between his hands. “I mean, you’re chatty, smiling. You’ve got that, that”—he winds a hand at my face—“sparkle about you.”
“Sparkle.” I snort. “I’m not a unicorn, Duke. Missing my fairy wings as well, if that was your preference.”
“Glow, then. You’ve got a glow. Although that’s the kind of thing I’d say to a pregnant woman, and unless you’ve yet to share something with me, I’m sure that’s not you.”
“Well …” I bite my lip and frown.
The panic that washes through him head to toe is nothing short of hilarious. “Cam, you better not be fucking with me.”
“Why?” I ask feigning naïve innocence.
He sets the unopened bottle down on the counter, his eyes hooded as he sizes me up. “Because …” He takes a step toward me. “One: it makes me wonder who the fuck the douche is that would knock a woman up and then walk. And two: if you were kidding—which I think you are—you’re gonna pay for making a fool out of me.” He approaches, doing a fine job of making himself appear bigger and more menacing as he closes in with a cheeky smile. “Who’s the guy, Cam?”
“No guy.” Nerves have me giggling like a damn schoolgirl as he gets close enough for me to touch and then lunges for the kill.
I squeal, darting to my left and twisting out of his grasp as I make a run for the living room.
“You can run,” he calls out, teasing, “but you can’t hide.”
I bolt through the hallway, wrenching the back door open before he reaches me with his long strides. “Do your best, soldier!”
The grass is dewy underfoot, the first hues of dusk painting the horizon as I run toward the fence line. Slowing to a jog, I turn and trot backward, casing him out. Duke drops off the porch, choosing to keep to a long stride as he bears down on me.
“You make me run, woman, I promise your punishment will be twice as rough.”Why does that sound so good?“I’m warning you now, I don’t like doing any cardio if I don’t have to.”
I laugh, turning back to face the fence as I zero in on the wooden stile. “Catch me if you can!”
I’ve got no idea where I’m planning on running to in thick-soled Goth boots. All I know is that I haven’t had this much fun in years: fun kicking back and letting go of my inhibitions. Finding the playful side of myself that I quarantined to the dark corners of my mind after Taylah’s death.
I took everything that meant happiness and locked it away, afraid that if I showed too much joy in the little things, people would assume that I’d let Taylah go. That I ever could.
My feet swish through the overgrown field as I sprint over the bumpy ground toward the stand of pines at the property line. Duke’s heavier footfalls thud behind me, his pace telling me he is, in fact, running. I press on, pumping my legs harder as I laugh like I haven’t in a long damn time. It feels good: the burn of the evening air into my lungs, the grass on my legs.