“Neither can you,” Haven said.
A shadow passed over Cora’s expression, but it disap peared so quickly that Haven wasn’t sure she’d seen it at all. “No, I don’t want to go back either. But you . . . you’re the one who would be in real danger. I’m not mad at you, I’m just worried for you.” Cora reached across the bed and squeezed her hand. “I could never be mad at you. You’re a good person. Of course you’d want to tell the truth to someone who’s helping you.”
Relief flooded through her. “Right. Thanks.”
“But can we keep the reward to ourselves for a little longer? Just until we get to know the people here more and see what our plan is going to be?” Cora asked.
“Of course,” Haven said, pretty much willing to follow Cora to the ends of the earth. After all, Haven would still be in Georgia and probably married to a horrible, disgusting middle-aged man by now without her.
“Okay, then,” Cora said, settling back against the pillows again. “Don’t worry. Okay?”
Haven took a handful of popcorn. “Before I agree to that, can I ask you something?”
“What?” Cora asked.
“Are you . . . is everything okay?”
“I’m fine. Why?” Cora frowned as she took a bite.
“I don’t know. Sometimes I get the sense that something’s bothering you. I know I’ve asked before, but I want to make sure I’m not being so self-involved over here that I’m not there for you, too.” It wasn’t the first time Haven had asked in the weeks since they’d run away. Though Cora was almost always upbeat and funny, there were moments when Haven’s gut said it was an act. Just like it had been when she’d told jokes about her empty lunch boxes when they were little.
“Something is bothering me, Haven. Making sure you stay safe. I know you’re here for me, too. I promise. So don’t worry. Really.”
“Okay,” Haven finally said.
But that night as she lay in the quiet darkness of her bedroom, worrying was all Haven could do. God, if she wasn’t the oldest twenty-two-year-old on the face of the planet. Sometimes she felt absolutely ancient. Finally, she gave up on sleep, slipped into her clothes, and crept down to the kitchen. The clubhouse was dead quiet, which Haven appreciated, since it meant she could get elbows-deep in baked goods without worrying about disturbing anyone or being found out.
She gathered everything she needed for lemon-almond bars, which were great for breakfast or as a treat all day in case there weren’t a lot of guys here in the morning. As she added the dry ingredients to the butter mixture, her mind calmed enough to drift. Soon, she was thinking of the list she’d been working on when Dare joined her on the porch. As if their conversation hadn’t been awkward enough, Haven had been hyperaware of the fact that she’d been standing two feet from him holding a notebook full of firsts she wanted to experience, adventures she wanted to have, and goals she wanted to achieve.
Mortified wouldn’t begin to describe how she’d feel if anyone besides Cora read it. And she wasn’t even thrilled with Cora reading it. Not only did it make her feel really exposed, but it felt a lot like saying your birthday wish out loud. If Haven admitted her dreams to someone else, maybe they wouldn’t come true.
Haven put the crust in the oven to bake, then set about cleaning up and preparing to make the filling, her thoughts spinning around how Dare had talked to her before he’d stormed off the porch. The way he’d gotten up in her face should’ve scared her, but it hadn’t. Haven had liked it. That was hard to believe, but true. Besides Cora, Haven didn’t think she’d ever had another person so passionately defend her. And it had done strange things to her. For a heartbeat, she’d wanted to kiss him. Just thinking about it made her pulse race even now.
What would it be like for that harsh mouth to kiss her? For that gravelly voice to whisper into her ear in the dark? For those rough hands to touch her, skin on skin?
And what the heck would she do if Dare ever tried to do any of those things?
She wasn’t a virgin, but she wasn’t exactly experienced, either. She and Zach, her first real boyfriend, had loved each other. They’d been together for four months when they’d gotten caught in his truck at one of the river overlooks. She never learned how her father knew where they were, but the memory of him ripping open the driver’s door and finding her straddling Zach’s lap remained crystal clear in her head. That night had been the last she’d ever seen Zach, and it had been the real beginning of her father’s twisted need to control everything about her life—by whatever means it took to bend her to his will. First, by punishing her. Second, by forbidding her return to school. And third, by threatening to harm Zach if she ever saw him again. That had been nearly eight years ago. Eight years without a man’s touch—or, at least, without the touch of men she actually wanted.