Page 84 of Found in Wild Sage

I can’t erase last night, but I can feed them. I can take care of her and show her I haven’t devolved into a slobbering idiot just because I had a few shots of tequila at my brother’s birthday party.

“Good morning, Declan,” Evie says, and Charlie echoes, “Good morning!”

His giant smile eases a bit of my self-loathing because it’s impossible to feel sorry for yourself when this little one is grinning at you and reaching for you.

Reaching for me. It hits me like it does sometimes—what a privilege it is to be someone he reaches for.

“Morning, Evie. Charlie.” I bend and smile at him, then take him when she urges him into my arms.

She grabs his bib and I settle him into his highchair. I am a wuss and focus on Charlie instead of looking her directly in the eye. I need to talk to her, but I don’t know where to start.

Sorry I said I wanted to feast on you last night. It’s true, but I didn’t mean to freak you out.

Yeah. That’ll go perfectly.

“How are you feeling?” She moves into the kitchen and places a hand on my shoulder as she passes.

Okay, voluntary touching is a good thing. Evie’s a fairly tactile person, but I think she tends to keep it under wraps around me. Or she has. Her touch gives me a small burst of hope that maybe I haven’t made as big a mess as I’ve feared.

“I’m okay. Feeling like an idiot.”

She takes the plates and sets one in front of Charlie, then one at the table. Turning to me, she smiles. “You mentioned that last night.”

“I remember.”

Her lashes flutter. She swallows. Licks her lips. “Do you?”

Here’s where I could pretend I don’t remember what I said. But I have to stop holding back so much. It’s unkind to her and it’s beginning to feel cruel to me.

“I remember everything I said.”

We breathe through the next seconds, our gazes locked. I’m begging her to say something—to help me know how much groveling I need to do for what I said.

A blush steals over her cheeks and down her neck. My heart trips.

Charlie shouts out an “Uh-oh!” and Evie shakes her head as though waking from a dream and turns to respond. She retrieves his drink from the floor where he knocked it, then turns back to me.

“I’m sorry if what I said was over the line. It’s unacceptable to make you uncomfortable in your own home, and I⁠—”

“No, please don’t apologize. I’m sure you didn’t mean it, and⁠—”

“I did.”

Her mouth opens but she doesn’t speak, and in another beat, it snaps closed.

“I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true. I won’t pretend I did. But I want to make clear that I am sorry if I made you uncomfortable. The timing was wrong, and I hope you can forgive me for—for—coming on too strong.”

Her gaze shifts to the ground, then the fridge, the sink, over my shoulder to whatever’s there, then to the center of my chest before she finally meets my eyes again.

It’s not disgust or regret or hurt or anger there. It’s confusion, which isn’t anywhere near what I’ve been expecting.

“I’ll admit, I don’t understand.”

I nod, because I can do nothing else. I accept she’s confused. I’m not sure how to help it other than to be less cagey and more forthcoming, though that’s, in some ways, what I was just apologizing for.

“I told you a bit about my feelings last weekend.” She waits patiently while I find the next words. “That was true. And last night, my guard was down, so I may have made that a bit clearer. I’m aware it was likely too much, too soon to say the least.”

“I think that’s where I get confused. We connected on the trip, and then we got home, and I thought we’d continue.” Her blush deepens to a bright red. “And then you acted like we were back to where we were before we ever went on the camping trip. Before you—you said I was your favorite and we kissed.”