Chapter 16: Careful

I drove us back toward the cottage with Anders in the passenger seat.

Pia's bag of frozen peas was on his jaw.

Neither of us said anything for ten miles.

At the top of Larsmont Road I pulled over beside the lake and turned off the engine.

The water was gray and flat, and the sun had just cleared the trees.

"You can take that off," I said. "Let me see."

He lowered the peas.

The whole left side of his jaw had gone purple.

"He hits like a man who's never had to," Anders said.

"He hits like someone who's been waiting six years."

"That too."

I took the bag out of his hand.

I put it back against his face myself.

My fingers rested along his cheekbone to hold it there.

I should have taken my hand away.

I didn't.

His skin was rough and warm with stubble, and under it I felt a muscle jump.

He had not moved.

He was gripping the door handle so hard his knuckles were white.

It's the cold, I told myself. He's been standing in a shop for an hour.

"Britta," he said.

"What?"

"I'm trying to do this right."

"Do what?"

"Not touch you."

"I'm touching you."

"I know. I'm being very good about it."

I laughed, and it came out unsteady.

"I need to ask you something," I said. "And I need you to answer it plainly."

"All right."

"Why are you here?"

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