Not that she’d ever planned to in the first place.
“I grew up in a small copper mining town in northern Arizona,” he said, surprising her. “If you’re born there, you live and die there, working in the mines in between.”
“Not you, though,” she said.
“Not me.” He paused, as if hoping that’d be enough for her.
Poor, delusional man; that had only served to make her more curious. At her go on gesture, he shook his head.
“My parents would tell you that I’m stubborn, too,” he said. “And they’d add that I’m also an unfeeling, selfish son of a bitch.”
“Because you didn’t stay?” she asked, her smile fading. “But that’s not a crime. Everyone deserves to live the life they want.”
“The Jameses have always been miners,” Parker said. “It’s what we do, and tradition is tradition. My parents worked all the time; it was all they ever did. It was what was expected of everyone, me included, even though I never wanted to be a miner.”
“So you left,” she said, fascinated by the unexpected glimpse of what had created Parker the man.
“The day after I graduated high school, I hitchhiked to New York and bartended while putting myself through college,” he said.
She thought that sounded incredibly brave. “What was your major?” she asked softly, wanting him to keep talking forever. They were in a little bubble here in the warm, cozy living room with Oreo snoring on the other end of the couch and the rest of the world asleep.
“Criminology,” he said, and surprised her again.
“Impressive.”
“Not really,” he said. “I did it because it was the opposite of everything I knew, and I wanted to piss off my parents. Turns out I liked it so it stuck.” He’d settled his long body into the leather recliner next to the couch and stretched his long legs out in front of him. Now he leaned back, like maybe he was as exhausted as she was.
Suddenly she felt bad about waking him up and keeping him up. “You don’t have to babysit me,” she said. “I’m fine down here by myself.”
He didn’t say anything.
Or move.
“Seriously,” she said quietly. “Go back to bed. I’ll keep it down.”
“The sobbing, you mean?” he asked.
“Hey,” she said. “It was a touching ending to ten seasons, okay? And I’ll have you know, I never cry. Or very rarely,” she corrected. “I can’t even remember the last time I did.”
But actually that was a lie because she did remember. It had been when Darcy had moved out three months ago, right on the heels of Wyatt doing the same. She’d been alone for the first time since she and her siblings had taken over their grandparents’ family home.
That night she’d accidentally blown up her microwave while making popcorn. She’d gone outside to fumble through the electrical box to replace the fuse and had—in the space of five minutes—locked herself out of the house and sliced open her finger trying to pry open the breaker panel.
She’d sat on the front porch in the dark, head to her knees, and cried from loneliness. She’d allowed the pity party until she’d spent herself and that was that.
She got over it.
It was what she did.
And now she wasn’t alone anymore—at least for as long as Parker stayed—and she didn’t know how she felt about that. Suddenly chilled, she hugged herself and wondered how cold her bed was going to be.
“I could build you a fire,” Parker said.
Did he notice everything? “Not until I get the fireplace fixed,” she said.
“I could—”
“No,” she said. “Thanks, but I’ve got it.”
He looked at her for a long beat, saying nothing.
“What?”
“Just trying to figure out if you’re an exceptionally stubborn person or if you’ve been badly burned.”
“I’ve never burned myself on that fireplace.”