She nodded at the different sections of the room she’d already organized. “Trash goes to the left, stuff to keep to the right, and sellables in the middle. And why shouldn’t I apologize?” She refused to be distracted from the original point of the conversation.
“Because you don’t mean it.” He moved the box to hersellablelocation, then grabbed another one.
Measure her response or bite back? “What I didn’t mean were the things I said last night.”
“You did.” His even, infuriating tone was one she recognized after all these years. He was working hard to keep his thought and emotion in check. “We both know the liquor doesn’t make up anything except the notion that what’s already there is okay to say.”
She wasn’t interested in being analyzed. “Your note said you wanted to talk. Was that simply to berate me?”
“No. But I don’t want to gloss over it with false platitudes andI didn’t mean itandit was the booze speaking.” His expression cracked, and a mixture of sadness and amusement slid in.
She’d never seen him break before, but ithadbeen a long time. “Then what’s the point?” She dug into the next crate. Stacks of clothing. She started a new pile across the room. “To donate.”
“Admit it happened, don’t hide from it, and move on.”
That was entirely too reasonable. Rain drove against the siding, rattling its agreement.
“And now that’s out of the way...” He trailed off when he looked inside a wooden crate. “Oh.” He sank back to the floor, and dust rose around him.
“What is it?”
“Nothing. To sell.” He pushed the lid back on and shoved the box away. It screeched across the wood.
Curiosity piqued, she pried open the top again. Inside was corrugated cardboard and bubble wrap. She reached for a piece on top of the pile, and he grabbed her wrist. It didn’t take much effort to shake off his grip. She pulled off the wrapping, to reveal a delicate China saucer. “Pretty.”
“Put it away.” An edge lined his words.
Confused and concerned, she looked at him. “What’s up with you?”
Thunder crashed. Lightning brightened the room for a flash before the window darkened again. Drops of water splattered against the glass. “Donate it if it’s not worth anything.”
“Tell me.” She set the plate on top of the wrapped dishes. She wasn’t sure why it was important, but she needed an explanation.
The emotion vanished from his face, and the blank nothing rushed back in. “Not a big deal. Family heirloom. She was saving it for my wedding. Doesn’t hold the same meaning if she’s not here to—” He shook his head. “What’s next?”
Bailey swore she felt the grief spill from him. “I’m sorry.”
“See, now I believe you.” His smile was weak. He pushed the crate to the other side of the room, somewhere between thedonateandkeeppiles. The storm kicked up, and gales slammed into the side of the house.
Would every other stack of belongings bring this much pain? It was going to be a long week. She nodded at the boxes that fell on her earlier. “Those attacked me. They’re probably next.”
They worked in silence for a while, raindrops against the roof taking the place of conversation.
“How long do you want us working, boss?” Jonathan’s question startled her.
With the storm, it was hard to tell what time of day it was, but if the sun hadn’t set yet, it was close. She made a show of looking around the room. “We got a lot done. I guess we can call it a night.” And she desperately wanted to wash the grime from her face and arms.
“I’m making dinner. Are you staying?” He stood and offered her a hand up. His grip was firm and warm. Enticing, in a way she refused to linger on.
She pulled away as soon as she had her footing. It was tempting to tease him about macaroni and cheese not being a real meal, but she saw the ingredients he bought—noodles, cream, mushrooms, and more. While she wasn’t sure what he was going to make, it was fancier than pre-packaged. “I’d like that. Let me clean up a little bit first, and I’ll be right down.”
In the bathroom, the cool water poured over her hands and wrists, chasing the heat away but not erasing the invisible imprints of Jonathan’s touches. She splashed her face and scrubbed at the dirt smudges. She was a mess.
“Ale?” His voice carried up the stairs.
The nickname made her growl when anyone in town used it. Coming from him, it drew a smile without her permission. “Yeah?”
“Where’s the steak?”