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Gage handed Sydney’s phone back to her. “Would you like to take another walk this morning?”
“Yes. If you’re feeling up to it.”
He picked up his fork. “I am. We’ll go down by the creek. But we’ll take the long way and avoid the tree.”
“Do you have a camera you can bring?”
“Good idea.”
While they ate breakfast, Gage told Sydney about his house and what it had looked like when he first moved in. It was one room and very rustic. When they were done with the meal, Gage offered to help her with the dishes, but she made him sit at the table with a second cup of coffee.
He watched her. “I actually like doing dishes.”
“Good to know. When you’re better, I’ll gladly let you do them.”
“I’m seriously fine. I feel bad you’re staying.” She glanced over her shoulder at him. “Like I said before, it’s not that I want you to leave. I just feel guilty. You probably have better things to do. "
“There is nowhere I’d rather be, Gage.”
She finished the few dishes, then they dressed warmly and went outside. Gage brought a camera in case they saw anything picture worthy, and they followed the road past his house to where it ended. Then they cut over to the creek through a stand of trees. It was fairly level ground. And the snow had continued melting, with only a couple inches in the areas the sun hit the ground.
As they came out on the far side of the trees, Gage took Sydney’s hand. “Is this okay?”
“Yes.”
He glanced at her. “I told you I’m not very good at this.”
“You’re doing fine.”
When they got to the creek, Gage was ready to sit down. He brushed the snow from a log and they sat. He put a hand on his injured side. “It’s weird how you don’t think about all of thesemuscles until they’re hurt. Then every move you make reminds you they are there.”
“Do we need to go back?”
“No. I just need to sit for a few minutes.” He took her hand again. “Your hands are cold. Give me the other one.” She put her other hand in his, and he put his hands on either side of hers. “Does that help?”
She nodded. “Tell me about growing up with five brothers and a sister. It must’ve been crazy.”
“It was at times. Holidays were crazy. I guess they still are. But there was only a five-year period where we were all at home. Corbyn is thirteen years older than Clementine. When he left home at eighteen, she was three years old. Then Remy left. Two years later, Cooper started riding bulls and was gone every summer. I’m glad we’re all back in town. And now, the babies are coming.”
“Have you seen Raphael yet?”
“No. I’ll go see him on Monday.” He sighed. “I guess I should put this out there. I never really thought about being a husband and a father. I figured I’d stay single like Uncle Rand.” He turned and looked at her. “I’m not saying I don’t want that. I’m saying I just never saw it happening.”
“I understand. So it’s not a definite no way no how?”
“No. It’s not.”
“Okay.”
He smiled at her. “You’re way too understanding. This can’t be easy for you. I know I’m not the guy you dreamt of when you were growing up and writing in your diary.”
Sydney laughed. “I never had a diary. I had journals. But I wrote stories in them. Not my childhood secrets.”
“What kind of stories?”
“Short stories. Slice of life vignettes, I suppose.”
How did he not know she was a closet fiction writer? “I’d like to read them.”
