He turned toward her and, for a moment, time seemed to stretch out, long and thin. Breakable. Like a blade of grass pulled too tight. She moved in place again. “Anyway, I came to say thank you for what you did.” She looked to the side for a minute like she was trying to find words written on his wall. “You helped me with something that was very, very important to me and I’m grateful.”
He looked down, wanting to tell her something, but not knowing if it was right to say. Not knowing the rules about things like that.
“What is it?” she asked, like she could read his face, knew his thoughts. It surprised him that he liked the idea of that.
“I wanted you to know that . . . I visited them. I . . . talked to them too. They weren’t alone.” He couldn’t look at her. His face burned. But when he finally did, there were tears in her eyes, and she looked like he’d made her happy.
“Thank you,” she whispered. She shook her head. “Those words feel too small. I . . . you’ve given me a gift. The gift of peace.”
Lucas lifted his head, smiling. He’d given her a gift and it had pleased her. “I’m glad it . . . helped you. To find them.”
She let out a breath. “Yes, um.” Her voice stumbled, and she cleared her throat, nodding her head to the bag on her shoulder. “Anyway, I also brought you this. A gesture of gratitude.”
“What is it?”
She took the bag off her shoulder, moving past him to set it on the table by the back window, and then she turned to him. He took the few steps so he was standing beside her, waiting. She paused for a beat and then shot him a smile before opening the bag and pulling a few items out. Cans. She held them up to him one at a time. “Chicken noodle soup and pears.” She set them on the table and then pulled out a few more items, listing them as she did. “Baked beans with ham, oh.” She pulled out another item and held it up to him like it was the best of all. “Peanut butter,” she said, her voice lowered to a whisper.
“I remember peanut butter,” he murmured.
“Oh. You do? Did you like it?”
“Yes, I liked it.”
Her face lit up so brightly that Lucas blinked. Each time she smiled at him, he felt good in a way he couldn’t describe. Like I’m a man. She makes me feel like a man. She took off the top and peeled back some silver paper showing the smooth food he hadn’t had since he was a little boy. He leaned forward, sniffing at it before dipping a finger in, pulling it out and sticking it in his mouth.
Oh, God. Good. His eyes wanted to roll to the back of his head, but he kept them glued to Harper’s, surprised by her eyes getting bigger as she watched him lick the peanut butter from his finger. The way she was watching him . . . Oh no, he was doing something wrong, acting . . . wrong. He dropped his hand to his side. Ashamed.
“Good?” Harper asked, and her voice sounded different than it had, deeper and a little slower. She reached into the bag, pulling something else from it. “Crackers,” she said, the word rushed as she threw the box to the table. “And a few other things. Food. I brought you food, because I was worried you might have a hard time getting out to hunt without your bow and arrow. And there’s a storm coming too, in case you didn’t know.”
“Thank you. I have what I need. You didn’t have to worry.” He said it, but he didn’t say that her worrying about him felt good, because it meant someone remembered he was alive. It did him no good, but maybe he was still part human. And that mattered to him.
She tilted her head and looked long at him for a minute, her eyes moving from his eyes, to his lips, staying there for a second and then over his jaw. It made him want to run a hand over his short beard, to make sure he didn’t have some peanut butter sticking to it. But he stayed still and let her study him. She seemed to like what she saw and he was curious, wanted to know her thoughts, but had no idea how to ask.
What do I look like to you? I was human once, but now I’m part animal. Which one do you see? And why aren’t you afraid?
He’d crawled.
He’d cried.
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He’d eaten mud and bugs and dead grass when he was so starved he thought he’d die.
He’d begged.
He’d killed.
Could she tell? Could she see in his eyes how low he’d gone to survive? To live?
“I’m glad you have what you need,” she finally said, turning her head and looking at the food on his table. “I’ll leave this stuff anyway.” She looked up at him. “Is there anything that you do need? Matches? Or . . .” Her white teeth caught her bottom lip and slid over it, and it made his body tighten with want, his muscles filled with that heat that made him want to move. Toward her. “I don’t know.” She shrugged, letting out a small laugh.
He tried his best to ignore his body. “I do need matches, but I don’t have anything to trade.” He frowned. “And I know that’s not how things work in—”
“Oh, you don’t need to pay me in any way. I told you, you’ve already given me a gift. Let me repay you for your help. Your time.”
He watched her, not liking the idea of that, but not able to say why. He had always worked for the things he got. He didn’t know how to take without paying. The way she was looking at him though, with that something lighting her eyes and her lips pressed together like she wouldn’t breathe until he said yes. And he wanted to say yes, not only for the matches, but because he wanted her to come back. “Okay.”
She grinned, letting out that breath he knew she had been holding. “Great. What other foods do you like?”