Page 18 of Wrong Number, Right Grumpy Guy Next Door

“It isn't.”

“He can say no if he wants to say no.” I fold the cloth, but my hands are doing it all wrong. “It's his work… and not my business what he does with it.”

I think about it, walking back up the hill in the heat. I stood in that room and told him people should be standing in front of those photographs. And I’m not the only one who knows how good he is. He belongs here, in nature, not in the city. I can’t ask him to move with me.

Whatever I am to him, I'm not enough to change that.

He's on his porch when I come up the hill.

“Long day,” I say.

“Yep.”

I sit down on the step below his and he puts his hand on the back of my neck. I lean into it, and neither of us says anythingfor a long time while the light fades into the trees. I take a deep breath.

“My publisher wants me in the city. For a meeting.”

His hand stays where it is, but stops stroking my skin.

“When?”

“End of this week.”

“Right.”

The wind comes down through the pines, bringing with it a cooler, fresher breeze that ruffles my hair.

“That's good. They want the next books?”

“Yeah.”

“You should go.”

He means it kindly, but it goes into my heart like a splinter.

“Right,” I say. “Yes. Obviously.”

The day after, I'm coming round the side of the workshop with a coffee and I stop when I hear Delphine’s voice. I’ve been working with my headphones on, so I didn’t hear her drive up. I stand there like a coward with a mug in each hand.

“Megan's going back to the city,” Harris says.

“For a meeting.”

“Yes.”

“And you've said what to her about that, exactly?”

“Well, I said she should go.” A long pause; the sound of something metal being set down on the bench. “She's got a career, Delphine. A whole life over there. I'm not going to be the thing that stands in the middle of the road and blocks her from that.”

“So you're giving her space?”

“Yes.”

“Harris.” My aunt's voice is serious. “There's a difference between giving someone space and pushing them away. Standing very still and saying nothing looks the same from theoutside as not wanting her. My niece has spent two years with a man who didn't want her and got very good at recognizing it.”

He doesn’t say anything. I hold my breath, hoping, but he’s silent. So I put the coffee down on the sill outside the window and walk to my cabin. I don't come over to his place that evening, and he doesn't come to mine.

Chapter Eight