She smirks at me, her blush deepening. “I get it, Zach. Sharing a camper with me might totally cramp your style.”
“Huh?”
Greta’s shaking her head, fighting her smile and avoiding my eyes. “Just because I’ll be living like a nun for the foreseeable future doesn’t mean you’ll need to take monastic vows too. Maybe—”
“That’s not what I meant,” I blurt.
And as Greta studies me, waiting for me to continue, I’m wondering why the hell I said that.
Because there’s no way I can explain to her that I’ve been trying to keep her at arm’s length. Trying to push her away.
Trying not to think about her ever since that first Zoom call back in May.
And I don’t see how that would be manageable living in a four-hundred-square-foot box made of particle board and fiberglass.
I swallow hard again and try to get my brain to come up with an acceptable reason not to go with what’s an otherwise awesome idea. If it meant living with literally anyone else.
Just not Greta.
“It’s just…” I stall, wracking my brain. “Not… a lot of privacy.”
Greta winces at me before her eyes dart away. “Is it me?”
“What?!”Jesus Christ, can she tell? I’ve always been super careful not to show her or Josh—
“I know we’ve never really gotten along, and you don’t really like m—”
“Greta. No.” The words come out so loud a couple of Reve’s other patrons turn to look at us.
Not to mention the way Greta is looking at me. Kind of alarmed.
I can’t say I blame her.
“It’s not that I don’t like you.” To me, the admission sounds too close to the truth. She’s going to see everything, and then she’s going to dissolve this partnership before the ink even dries on our new agreement.
“Look—” I rake my hands through my hair, probably leaving my ruddy mop standing on end. “I just don’t—”
“I know we got off on the wrong foot, Zach,” Greta says, sounding like she’s blaming herself. I can’t help huffing a laugh. It’s too ridiculous. She’s done nothing wrong.
That’s all me.
I’m shaking my head. “No, no. I’ve been a jerk. It’s my fault.”
The look in her eyes softens. Yeah, she agrees. I’ve been a jerk to her plenty.
Shit, I could kick myself. I’ve made things hard for her.
I’ve made her hate me.
Except she isn’t looking at me like I’m someone she hates. Hell, she hasn’t looked at me like that since Friday.
Greta shrugs. “Maybe we got off on the wrong foot. But now… with everything—” Her smile wobbles, and I watch her battle the heartbreak that’s been right under her surface for the last three days. If I could reach across the table and take her hand, I would.
Hell, if I could push out of my chair and hug her, I would.
She inhales deeply and blinks fast, mastering the emotion. “I don’t know. Maybe we can start over? I’m willing if you a—”
“Yes.” The word is husky, raw. “Greta, yes.”