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Marigold mutters something, then finally turns to me with crossed arms. She’s wearing sweatpants and some kind of fleecy blue sweater, and the whole outfit is soaked and clinging. Her blonde ponytail is plastered to one shoulder, and her cheeks are pale from the cold.
“You were out there.”
I stomp to the log burner. “That’s different.” There’s a small fire burning already, but we’re gonna need to make this thing sweat if we want to warm up.
“Why’s it different?” Marigold demands, and lord, I’ve never heard her argue back so fiercely. She’s powerful under that shyness; a force of nature, standing tall with her chin raised. “I’m allowed to care about you too, Flint. I’m allowed to worry.”
The burner door jerks open in my hand, and I shove another log on there haphazardly. It’s sloppy work, but I’m too rattled by her words to do better. She really was worried?
“It’s different because I’m from here.” The burner door squeaks closed, the handle scorching my icy fingers. “I know what these storms can be like.”
“Rain, wind, thunder, lightning.” Marigold checks each off on her fingers, an angry blush staining her cheeks. “Yeah, I’m familiar with all of those. They’re not exclusive to Starlight Ridge, you know.”
“But they’re harsher in the mountains.” My bones creak as I push to my feet, and lord, I’d give my life savings for Marigold to understand me right now. To listen to what I’m saying. “You don’t get it, okay? You’re just a tourist—”
“Just a tourist?”
My head pounds. “No, wait. I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Just a tourist,” Marigold says again, her voice waspish. “Right. I see.”
The fire crackles merrily in the log burner, completely at odds with the storm raging outside the cabin—and the argument raging inside. The heat spreads over my legs, but it won’t get either of us warm until we change into dry clothes. Until we call a truce and take it in turns beneath a hot shower.
Too bad we’re busy glaring daggers at each other, a chasm yawning open between our shivering bodies. This isn’t a huge cabin, but we might as well be standing at opposite ends of a football stadium right now. How did things go so wrong?
“Next time I won’t bother,” Marigold declares.
Is that supposed to upset me? “Good.”
She shakes her head and turns away. The sound of the bedroom door shutting behind her echoes through the cabin.
Nine
Marigold
There’s nothing worse than being lectured by a complete jerk and knowing, on some level, that he might be right. Flint’s words ring in my ears as I stomp around the bedroom—his bedroom, the one he offered me so easily—peeling off my sodden layers one by one and flinging them down with a splat.
A tourist, he called me.
Just a tourist.
Awesome! Guess I know now what the bar boss really thinks of me. I’ve been wondering for weeks, hoping so desperately that he sees me as someone important to him, maybe someone he’d want to keep, but instead Flint has declared me completely temporary.
My heart gives a painful throb.
Maybe if I stay angry, I’ll never have to feel the knee-shaking force of how much that hurts me. Maybe if I cultivate this bitterness, Flint will never realize that I’ve been pining after him like the world’s biggest love struck idiot, hoping for so much more.
“Jerk,” I mutter, trying to keep my anger up as I hop on one foot to tug off my soaking sweatpants. As my wet clothes peel away, my bare skin comes into view—mottled from the cold and covered in goosebumps. “And he listens to old man music.”
Yeah, even when I wrack my irritated brain, it’s hard to come up with reasons to hate Flint. But they must exist, right? Just need to stay angry and think of some.
There’s a towel hanging on a hook on the bedroom door, and I wrap myself up like a pissed-off burrito, then fling the door open and stomp to the bathroom. Flint’s gaze is heavy on me as I come into view, but I don’t turn to look at him. Don’t even breathe again until I’m in the bathroom, the door-slam drowned out by another roll of thunder.
Just a tourist.
He doesn’t want me to stay. Need to get that into my brain, even if the thought makes my stomach cramp and twist.
Just a tourist.
