“Mom, you have to go back to the ranch.”
She looked at me. “And what about you?”
I avoided her eyes. “I’ll talk to Adam.”
She seemed to relax beside me. “Good.”
***
Later that day, Adam came by after putting in some time at the office. He brought me a box of fresh cinnamon rolls, cinnamon bread and a pack of cinnamon gum. Since getting any sort of appetite back after the first round of chemo, I’d been craving cinnamon to get rid of the rusty, metallic taste in my mouth. I’d mentioned it this morning when he’d called to check up on me and now, here he was, like some sort of Cinnamon Sugar Plum Fairy bearing gifts.
He’d grabbed a sandwich for himself and we sat at the table in Heath’s kitchen. Heath had gone to pick up some of Connor’s boxes to move in. I nibbled on my cinnamon roll, licking the icing from my fingers. Adam watched me carefully while trying to make it appear that he wasn’t. I got down about one third of the roll before I set the rest aside.
“Milk?” he said.
“Can’t. It’s on the ‘no’ list,” I said, referring to my dietary restrictions.
He nodded and bit into his sandwich thoughtfully. My hands fidgeted on the table in front of me. “Umm,” I finally said.
He chewed and swallowed, looking at me expectantly.
“If—if that offer to stay with you is still open… I’d like to accept it.”
Adam wiped his mouth with a napkin, his eyes brightening. “Sure—yeah. Yeah, of course it is.”
“I just want to tell you something, though.” I said. I cleared my throat. “Um. I’m a little scared about this. Because of what happened last time.”
Adam reached a hand across the table and took mine. His warm palm enveloped it. “Last time was different. We both made a lot of shitty mistakes.”
I nodded. “Okay…”
“No recriminations, remember? I think we can move past this. Do you?”
I frowned but nodded slowly. “I hope for it, anyway,” I said.
He was moving his hand on mine, idly tracing my palm with his index finger. His touch tingled, burned. My fingers closed around his but I didn’t know whether I was grasping at him to pull him closer or to stop him. It was so confusing.
“Grab your bag and toothbrush. Let’s go.”
I looked up, stunned. “Now?”
His brows drew together. “Sure. Why not?”
“Um.”
He stood, boxing up the leftover pastries and stuffing everything back into the bag he’d brought them in. “Come on. I’ll get my assistant over here tomorrow to get the rest of your stuff.”
“But—”
He stopped and turned toward me, waiting for me to finish.
I remembered that night when I’d first told Mom about being sick. When the thing I wanted most was to go home with him, for him to hold me. I had a vague memory of two nights ago, when I’d emerged from my chemo coma and he’d been here—camped out on the couch all weekend. He’d carried me back into my room and I hadn’t wanted to let go of him, hadn’t let go of him until I’d fallen asleep.
I took a deep breath. Time to stop being so scared. “Yeah—I’ll, uh—I’ll get my T-shirt and some clothes for tomorrow.”
His mouth turned up in a small smile and he nodded. “I’ll go shove this in the car and come back for your bag. Be right back.”
With shaking hands, I quickly gathered up my stuff and texted Heath to let him know where I’d be. And then I hopped in the car and we left.
A half hour later, we stood at the bridge that crossed the small bit of harbor water to take us to Bay Island. Adam insisted we take one of the little army of golf carts waiting at the end of the bridge instead of walking the hundred yards to his house. When I hesitated, he insisted, saying I looked tired.
I probably just looked like shit since shit was my new look, compliments of the chemotherapy. And I wasn’t even bald yet, though I knew that was coming soon. I could have walked but I didn’t push the issue. Adam wanted to take care of me. He worried. So I’d humor him. After all we’d been through, I realized that arguing over something as simple and as trivial as this was just pointless. There were more important things in life to fixate on.
We got out and he took my backpack, gripping it as if it and I might both vanish if he didn’t grab on tight. He’d been waiting for me to say yes, to come stay with him. Though he didn’t show it, I could tell he was quite pleased that I’d finally agreed. Why else had he rushed out of Heath’s apartment as if he was afraid I might change my mind if I stayed there one more night?