Page 177 of What We Break
For a long moment, we just stand there looking at each other. A weird crackle in the air I don't understand.
Okay, that’s a lie. Just a little one. Because I do understand it.
But I have no plans to examine it. That’s not a road I have any intention of traveling.
Then Blake's jaw tightens, and he steps back abruptly.
"You should go wait inside," he says, his voice rougher now. "Reid will be home soon."
The dismissal stings, especially after the past few minutes of easy conversation. "Blake, did I say something wrong?"
"No." But he won't look at me now. "I just have work to do."
"Okay," I say quietly, heading for the door. "I'll just..."
"Laine."
I turn back, hoping the moment of connection isn't completely lost.
"Thanks," Blake says. "For asking about the work. Most people don't... they don't really understand it."
"It's beautiful work. You should be proud of it."
Blake nods, but the walls are back up. His lips press together and he sighs. "Reid's lucky to have you."
The way he says it is final, like he's closing a door. I want to ask what I did to make him shut down so suddenly, but his body language is clear. The conversation is over.
And finally, finally, I smarten up and stop pushing. "I'll see you inside," I say.
"Yeah. See you."
Walking back to the house, I can't shake it. For a few minutes there, Blake and I were actually connecting. Talking like two people who genuinely liked each other. Then suddenly it shifted, and he couldn't get rid of me fast enough.
The same pattern, over and over. Warm one minute, distant the next. But this time it felt more personal. More desperate.
I've been hit on in a dozen countries by guys who didn't even speak my language. I know what interest looks like — the way someonekeeps finding your eyes, inventing reasons to brush against you, that jittery energy radiating off them like heat from pavement.
Blake's not doing any of that. If anything, he's doing the opposite. Pulling away. Cutting conversations short. Looking at me like I'm a splinter he can't quite dig out.
It's not attraction. I thought it was, for a minute. But no, it's something else. Something I don’t understand.
So why can't I stop thinking about it?
I'm backin the kitchen, chopping onions for the sauce, when Reid's truck rumbles into the driveway. His keys hit the counter a minute later, that familiar clatter of metal on granite, and I smile before I can stop myself.
"It smells amazing in here," Reid says, wrapping his arms around me from behind and pressing a kiss to my neck.
"Just getting started." I lean back against his chest, letting myself enjoy the solid warmth of him. "How was your shift?"
"Long. Boring. Standard Tuesday." His hands settle on my hips as he peers over my shoulder at the cutting board. This position is getting so familiar, so comfortable. "You're early."
"Thought I'd get a head start on dinner." I turn in his arms, studying his face. He looks tired, but there's that easy smile I love. "I went out to the workshop. Talked to Blake for a few minutes."
"Yeah? How'd that go?"
Reid's tone is carefully casual, but the hope is right there in his eyes. He's been trying so hard to bridge whatever gap exists between Blake and me, convinced that if we just spend enough time together, everything will sort itself out.
"Good," I say, which isn't exactly a lie. "He showed me the mantel he's working on. It's incredible—the detail, the craftsmanship. I can see why his work is in demand."
