Page 49 of One Week With You
“Seriously, stop.” I clawed at the back of his coat, unsteady and off-balance despite knowing he’d never drop me. “You could hurt yourself!”
“Don’t insult me,” Rafe scoffed, shouldering open the door. He stomped out the snow on the mat and marched inside, throwing me down on the sofa. I gazed up at him in breathless disbelief as he shook his head and spun away, settling his fists on his hip while he seemingly tried to rein in his anger.
Did that just happen?
“What are you playing at?” he said finally, his gaze furious against mine. “You could catch your death out there.”
The cushions scattered as I struggled up onto my elbows, too low and vulnerable all splayed out. “Oh, so you can disappear for half the day in the freezing cold, but if I spend a few hours out there, it’s bad?”
“You’ve been out there for how long?” he demanded.
“It doesn’t matter. What’s done is done.”
“Talia, what the fuck is going on?”
“You tell me. Where the hell have you been?”
“You know where I’ve been,” he said, confused.
Right. So that’s how he was going to play it. Fine. Somehow, I managed to climb to my feet, weary for more reasons than I could count and so not in the mood for someone to lie to my face. “I’m gonna take a shower.”
Rafe stepped closer, face marred with a frown. “Talia.”
I shook my head as if that was some kind of answer, too confused by the whiplash of emotions. How did the day start so wonderfully and end like this?
“We can warm up together?” he tried, a tentative tug at the zipper on my coat.
“I’m tired. We’ll talk later.”
Cupping my cheek, Rafe brushed his thumb across my cheekbone. “I know I was gone a long time. I’m sorry if I worried you. It wasn’t my intention.”
With a nod I headed for the stairs, too scared to speak around the lump in my throat and the fear I might start blubbering, and then where would I be?
* * *
Freshly showered and changed, and warmer than an hour previously, I made dinner by heating up some tomato soup and serving it with crunchy wholemeal rolls. I didn’t have the energy for anything more. Rafe leaned against the kitchen door frame, arms folded, watching my every move but didn’t argue. Didn’t say much of anything. Just leaned and scowled. His factory setting.
We ate in silence.
The contrast to this morning made my heart ache.
“So,” I said at the same time Rafe’s spoon clattered against his empty bowl.
“Are you ever going to tell me what’s wrong?” he said.
I didn’t know where to start.
Bravery was easier said than done now the moment had arrived. Every aspect of my life had fallen apart – or felt like it – in recent weeks and I’d somehow, inexplicably, managed to carve out this little space of joy. I couldn’t bear the thought of losing it.
Losing him.
“I could say the same thing to you.”
“What?” The genuine confusion furrowing his brow brought my brain to a halt.
Have I got this all wrong?
“You were acting weird at breakfast.”
