Page 45 of When In Doubt

“Do you want me to come?” He says it slow, sounding every syllable. “You, Freya. Nobody else. Stop thinking about what you think I want and just tell me straight. Do you want me to come?”

“Yes.” I can hardly hear myself as the word escapes.

Oscar reaches out with his foot, tapping his toe against mine. I look up and meet his questioning gaze.

“What are you thinking?” he asks.

I study him, still trying to figure out what he’s doing. “You’re nice.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“I’m just trying to figure it out.” Shut up, Freya. He’s going to think you’re a basket case.

I don’t like the way he watches me, like he’s seeing too much. “Are you not used to people being nice to you?”

There’s a kind of stabbing pain, right in my chest, like I’ve been shot with an arrow. Who says things like that? And how does he know?

I clear my throat, needing to get away from this.

“Are you still alright driving?” I ask.

He pauses, watching me before he decides to let it slide. “Of course. Do you want me to come by the store on Friday to load up?”

“Um, no. It’s all at my place.” I was expecting to be making the trip alone, so I’ve been doing most of the prep at my apartment.

“Then, I’ll see you Saturday.”

Chapter Fifteen

FREYA

I’ve only half opened my front door when there’s a to-go cup being thrust into my hand.

“All in here?” Oscar grumbles as he passes me. I almost laugh. It’s six a.m. and he’s like a grouchy bear emerging from a cave. He looks around my apartment for a few seconds and I’m about to get embarrassed by the clutter, but he doesn’t seem to notice it. He spots the stacked-up bins of yarn and the folded display racks and starts work without a word, picking up two bins and taking them back down the steps to his waiting truck.

I take a small sip of the drink. It’s perfect. Exactly what I ordered at Becca’s.

Of course it is.

He doesn’t look at me as he comes back up to the door. I watch him, the way his shoulders stretch the fabric of his shirt. As he picks up the next box, I have to look away, my tongue feeling heavy in my mouth at the sight of his forearm veins.

I snap myself out of whatever trance I’m in and help Oscar get everything loaded. He doesn’t say much, any question I ask answered with a grunt or a single syllable until I give up altogether. Oscar lets out a long yawn, and then nods back up toward my front door. “Go grab your stuff, I’ll wait out here.”

When I’m back by the truck, purse and drink in hand, Oscar moves to the passenger side and pulls the door open, gesturing for me to get in. As I take my seat, he ducks down, gathering up my skirt where it’s spilling out the side of the vehicle and carefully smoothing it away, tucking it in to avoid getting dirty or trapped in the door. I stare straight ahead, spine rigid. My heart thuds in my ears and I don’t know if I want to pull away or beg him to wrap him warm hand around my calf and squeeze.

The tips of his fingers graze my ankle and I stifle a gasp. The light touch sends little icicles all up my leg and I have to curl my fingers in to stop myself from rubbing it away.

It’s confusing sometimes, craving contact so badly but finding certain kinds so uncomfortable. I desperately want the points of connection, but only if it’s the way I need it, the way that isn’t going to hurt me.

Oscar slams the door shut and rounds the hood. He slides in, giving me a small smile as he starts the engine.

“You got the address?” he asks.

I nod, pulling the scrap of paper out of my purse.

“Here.” He hands over his phone. “Password’s 9506.”

I open it up, surprised at how easily he’s giving me free rein. Aaron’s phone was always completely off-limits. I once answered a call when he was in the shower and he didn’t speak to me for three days.