Lucas moves a little closer to lean against a large pine tree. “Tell me why I’d remember you walking miles through the forest, Shyann.”
I contemplate lying, but something tells me he needs my honesty more than my protection. “That day in your kitchen, Gage he, uh . . . sent me home.”
He leans his head back hard enough that it thumps against the trunk. “I’m sorry.”
“He’s protective of you, Lucas.”
“I know.”
“He doesn’t need to protect you from me.”
His eyes look almost black as he zeros in on mine.
“I’d never hurt you,” I whisper.
“There’s all kinds of hurt.” His hands fist against his thighs and he stares at me as if he wants to say something, to confess something, but can’t.
“What is it?” I turn my whole body to face him. “Tell me.”
“Did we, I mean, did Gage . . . do anything?”
The cool air does nothing to temper my cheeks. “He kissed me.”
There’s a sharp intake of breath and then he drops his gaze. “I’m sorry.” He doesn’t sound apologetic. He sounds . . . angry.
“I’m not.”
His head whips around to face me, his jaw tight. “How can you say that?”
“I don’t know, I mean, I’m trying to figure it all out, too, but . . .” My stomach tumbles with nerves. I’ve never had a problem speaking my mind before, but with Lucas everything means more. “I like you, Lucas.” There, I said it. Now he can run or fess up.
“Wha . . . why?” His eyebrows drop low over his eyes and he takes a few steps closer and into the light so I can see the curiosity on his face.
I almost laugh at how genuinely shocked and interested in my answer he seems. He’s not fishing for compliments; it’s as if he really can’t believe I’d have any kind of good feelings toward him. Which is as heartbreaking as it is endearing.
“Why not?”
He grimaces, and I fear he might take off at any second, so I may as well get it all out.
“You’re sweet, polite, and you don’t try to push me around or control me.”
His expression grows more intense.
“You’ve been through something and I get the feeling that what you’ve shared is only a small fraction of that.” I stand and move closer to him, not enough to touch but close enough that he can see my face in the dim light. “But sometimes, when I look at you, I see a hurt that is so familiar. I can’t explain it more than to say I feel like I understand you.”
He shuts down, closes himself off by turning away from me, so I’m stuck with his profile. “You don’t know me.”
“I know, and the little I do know about you scares me.”
“It should.” He looks down at me and there’s a glint of danger in his eyes, as if Gage is simmering just below the surface. “I can’t do this.”
“We’re not doing anything, Lucas. Can we just try being friends?”
“I told you, I don’t have friends.”
“And I told you, I don’t either. So we’ll be each other’s first.”
This time it’s him who blushes, a crack in his guarded demeanor. I breathe in a sigh of relief, hoping he’ll give us a shot.
An awkward silence builds between us and I’m so afraid if it stretches out any longer I’ll lose him.
I clear my throat. “Have you eaten?”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Okay, tough guy.” I grab his hand and for a second he tries to pull away, but I refuse to let go. “Come on, let me feed you. Then I’ll take you home.”
He seems conflicted, but I ignore it, hoping it’s not me he’s conflicted about but that it’s this situation he’s unsure how to handle. I drag him through the door and he freezes.
“Something’s burning.” He pushes past me and races toward the kitchen. A few tendrils of smoke slither from the oven.
“Aw, crap.”
He grabs a dishtowel and drops the oven door, pulling out a blackened pizza and dropping it into the sink. With a flick of his wrist, he turns on the water and I move around, opening all the windows, hoping to air it out before the smoke detector alerts the entire mountain to the fact that I’m a crappy cook.
He coughs a couple times and continues to fan the smoke toward the open window.
I use a dishtowel to do the same, as if I’m sending smoke signals for takeout. “I hope you like your pizza thin and crispy with extra cheese.”
“And charcoal.”
My jaw drops and I prop my hands on my hips. “My goodness, Lucas . . . did you just make a joke?”
His lips twitch and he shakes his head. “No. I was being serious.”
Even his barely-there smile makes my stomach flip.
I fake gasp and point at him grinning. “Two jokes!”
He shuts off the water and tosses the towel on the counter, then turns, leans against it, and crosses his arms across his chest. It’s one of the few times I’ve seen him act comfortable, almost confident. “Now what?”
I chew on the inside of my mouth to hold back my smile. “Hmmm . . . I suppose since it’s your job to make sure I’m taken care of we better grab some food.”