Page 87 of Soft Flannel Hank

He exhaled. She felt the warm air on her face, the contrast almost electric in the cold room.

“What do you want then?” he asked, his voice rough.

“Will you—” She hesitated. They could be stuck here together for weeks. Could she afford to make him uncomfortable on the first night? That would make things unbearable. But could she afford to lay in that bed alone, night after night, for who knows how long while her bodyachedto have him next to her? That would be worse.

“Will you stay with me, Hank?” Esther asked in a small voice.

She braced herself for his refusal. She could hear it hovering at the tip of his tongue. Hank took a deep breath and she felt his ribs expand and press into her palm. His heart beat steadily under her hand.

He was silent just long enough that Esther took a step back. She had her answer. But then Hank took another deep breath.

“I’ll be right there,” he said. “I’m just gonna put another log on.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, staggered by her relief.

She turned and walked back to the bedroom, leaving the door open. She spread the quilt on the bed and slid under the covers.

She heard Hank’s heavy steps as he came into the room. He left the door open, no doubt to help with the chill, and crossed to the bed.

“Get in,” she said, lifting the covers.

He hesitated before climbing into the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. Esther slid into him. He’d showered and smelled like soap.

“Oh shit, I’m sorry,” she whispered as she realized how close her face was to his.

He grunted and shifted, arranging himself on the bed. It wasn’t a big bed, and Hank was a big man.

“I think we’re gonna have to be close,” he said softly. “Sorry.”

Esther smiled, even though she knew he couldn’t see it, because what a thing to say. A day ago, he’d been dry humping her in his kitchen to within an inch of her life, and now he was apologizing for cuddling.

“I don’t mind,” she whispered, wiggling closer to him, tucking her head under his chin and pressing into his chest. Her leg slid in between his, and she sighed. Hank’s body went rigid next to her.

How typical of their dynamic was this? She crooked her finger at him, and he came running, not because he wanted to but because he apparently couldn’t say no to her. And tonight she’d done it again. She’d wanted him close, and so she’d asked him for it. He’d agreed because that’s what he did. Because she asked. Not necessarily because he wanted to.

What if he didn’t want to?

Her heart beat hummingbird-fast in her chest, which felt hollow and achy with her miserable guilt.

“I’m sorry, Hank,” Esther said thickly. “You don’t want this—and I’m sorry. I—”

Hank’s arms came around her, and he crushed her against him. Her nose was buried against his sweatshirt, and she inhaled deeply, absorbing the smells that she would forever associate with this man, long after she’d finally taken mercy upon him and left him alone. Coffee. Irish Spring. Cedar. Fabric softener.

Esther let him hold her even though she knew he was doing it for her benefit alone. She would be selfish for tonight. In the morning, she would find a way to release him. Tears beaded in her lashes as she felt his body, so tense around her that a mallet strike would probably shatter him.

But then Hank dipped his head. He smelled the top of her hair, dragging in a deep breath that she felt in every cell of her body. He pressed his lips to her crown and held them there.

It was too much. She could picture him cataloging her smells, too. But he wouldn’t let her close enough to do more than catalogue her, like a creature he caught from the ocean before releasing it back to the wild. He’d been too hurt to let her love him the way he deserved. The way she wanted to.

Hank brought a hand to her cheek. She knew the moment he felt the tears because, impossibly, he tensed even more.

“Esther,” he said. “What’s wrong?”

“I never should have asked you to come in here. I never should have asked you to hold me like this.” She choked on her rising sob.

“Sweetheart,” he said, obviously bewildered.

Sweetheart.Somehow, the endearment made it all worse. That sob was wrenched from her body as he skated his thumb under her eye.