Shifting his weight, he peered at me from under his brows. “I made you uncomfortable, didn’t I? Shit.”

“No.” I lifted a hand to forestall any potential leaving on his part. “Not at all. You just surprised me.”

That was an understatement. We hadn’t parted on the best of terms, and he’d been extremely clear about wanting to be left alone. I’d been committed to trying to do just that. But he was here, and I had missed him. Barely a day, and I had missed the sound of his voice, the pleasure of talking to him.

He ducked his head and shook it wryly. “Surprised myself.”

“Did you?” I said, barely repressing a laugh. Because I wanted to. I wanted to freaking spread my arms and laugh with unfettered giddiness.

He looked back up at me from under his thick lashes. “I figured you might be bored. And yesterday, I was . . .” Wincing, he clasped the back of his neck, which did lovely things to his ropy forearms. “An asshole.”

“You were,” I said solemnly—the effect ruined by the smile breaking loose. “But then I wasn’t exactly a peach either.”

He didn’t smile, but his eyes glinted with amusement. We stared at each other, sharing a look that said we both understood perfectly how ridiculous we’d been. Then Lucian inclined his head toward the outdoors. “Well? Do you want to go?”

I was still recovering from the shock of him actually inviting me to do something with him, but I shook it off. Because wherever he was, I wanted to be, which should have terrified me, but it weirdly made me feel stronger. Nothing in my life was certain right now, not my career, not my living arrangements, and certainly not my love life. But when Lucian and I were together, I felt wholly myself, not the “everything is perfect; keep moving along” front I projected to the world.

“Sure. Let me just get dressed. Don’t move!” I shoved the food basket into his arms, then paused, flushing. “Sorry. Come in. I’ll just . . .” I tripped over a slipper I’d left on the floor. “Yeah . . .”

His chuckle followed me into the bedroom, where I dressed with the giddy excitement of a preteen. I didn’t know how I’d get through the day without either making a bigger fool of myself, strangling him, or jumping him. None of those options particularly appealed to me—well, the last one did, but I couldn’t act on that. Didn’t matter; I was going.

Lucian

Was I making a mistake inviting Emma on a hike? Probably. But I found I didn’t care. I’d been a raging dick yesterday. I’d let things get to me, let the grief for what I’d lost take over. Problem was, when I grieved, I raged. The doctors had warned me that it might be difficult to handle things, that my personality might be a little different.

A little. Right. All my life, I had been laid back—always the one to go with the flow, forget the nonsense. I was almost a stranger to myself now. My skin didn’t fit right over my bones. There were times it felt as though a swarm of hornets attacked my head, buzzing and stinging.

And I lashed out.

It shamed me to the core when I remembered Emma’s pretty face going pale, her entire body recoiling, as though expecting a strike. She had been afraid of me. For one horrible second, she’d thought I would hurt her. It had made me sick to my stomach, but it was only when I’d finally settled down in the darkness of my room that I’d felt the full weight of that remorse.

I could no more keep away from her now than I could stop breathing. She needed more than just a tersely uttered apology. She needed reassurance, care.

I wasn’t sure if taking her for a hike in the mountains was enough, but she appeared happy as I parked the truck at a lot near the base of the trail.

“I have a pack,” I told her, grabbing it. “I can carry whatever you need.”

“What do you have in there?” She rose up on her toes, trying to peek into it, which brought her far too close for comfort. My lids lowered as I caught a whiff of her sweet scent. I swore I detected a hint of apples. What had she thought of chaussons aux pommes? She clearly appreciated my food, but I was greedy; I wanted the particulars. And yet I couldn’t bring myself to ask.

I held the pack up, out of her reach, teasing her because it made her face light up in a way that I was quickly becoming addicted to. “Easy there, Snoopy. I’ve got all the essentials.”

Her indigo eyes narrowed. “Do you have sunscreen?”

“Of course I—hell. No, I don’t.”

Emma huffed, shaking her head at my egregious error as she dug out a bottle from her bag-like purse. “They never do,” she muttered. “Would it kill you men to take care of your skin?”