Page 20 of Camp Bliss
“Here, let me help.” Instead of hopping into the bed with her, I skirt the truck and heave the cooler out of her hands, giving it a good shake.
“Great,” she says, filling her bottle as the liquid pours readily. But her voice is tight. So is her expression. And then she gives an exasperated shake of her head. “I’m not helpless, you know.”
“I never said you were.”
Her brows practically levitate. But she holds out her hand for my water bottle. Reluctantly, I give it to her.
“I don’t think you’re helpless.” And if she can’t hear the defensiveness in my voice, she’s tone deaf. “You said ice was jamming the spout.”
She presses her lips together and glances to the tree line behind me. “Maybe I was just trying to fill in the awkward silence.”
“Silence is fine with me.” As soon as I say the words, I hear how shitty they sound. And that isn’t what I meant. I just—didn’t think the silence was awkward. We’ve hardly talked all morning, but it’s been… comfortable.
I hold up a hand. “I didn’t mean it like—”
“It’s fine,” she clips. Then she shoves the full bottle back at me.
Clearly, it’s not fine.
“Wait. I just meant that—” I search for the right words. Maybe this is why the silence was so comfortable. Because talking to Greta is like crossing a minefield.
“Look, I know you’d rather Josh be out here instead of me. I get it.” She’s scowling, but behind the scowl? Is thathurt?
Honestly? It’s the last thing I expect.
“I-I didn’t say that either,” I stammer.
She scoffs, and that hint of hurt evaporates. Now, there’s just disdain.
She stalks back to the tailgate and hops to the ground. “We should get back to work.”
Greta’s moving with unusually long strides. And dammit if those shiny leggings don’t fit her ass like a second skin.
Before I know what I’m doing, I jog after her.
“Greta, listen—”
I don’t expect her to stop and turn, so when she does, I have to hold out a hand to keep from crashing into her.
So, now I’m gripping her forearm.
“I meant that silence didn’t bother me because we’re making good progress.”
It’s the truth. At least, I think it is.
Working with her is going a lot better than I thought it would—until now.
She’s still scowling, but then she blinks, as if she’s testing my words.
I realize I’m still gripping her arm, so I let go. She’s too close. I step back.
Greta folds her arms across her chest. Then puts her hands on her hips. Then she drops her clenched fists. She couldn’t look more uncomfortable if she tried.
Well, that makes two of us.
“Let’s—Let’s just get back to work.” She turns away.
“Sure.”
