“I had things to do. After I did them, I didn’t feel like going home so I took a chance you’d still be up.You were.” He lifted the beer now, but after a single sip set it down. “Since you are, maybe I can talk you into bed.”

Frustration and disappointment mixed uneasily with resentment. “If I thought you’d come by for a beer and sex, I might be amenable. Since I don’t, no, you can’t talk me into bed.”

“It was worth a shot. I’ll get going.”

And now anger sifted into the mix. Her eyes flashed as he started out.“Do you think you can come here, knock on the door, then turn around and go when you don’t get what you want on your terms?”

His face remained calm—neutral, she thought—and she imagined he’d wear that same expression playing poker.

“I don’t remember laying out any terms. The mood’s wrong, so I’m going home.We can both catch a few hours’ sleep.”

“Oh yes, that’ll work now that you’ve annoyed and upset me.”

He stopped, dragged a hand through his hair. “Sorry. That wasn’t the plan. I should’ve gone home in the first place.”

“Maybe you should have, since you seem to feel our relationship shouldn’t involve any sort of confidences on your side, or expression of actual feelings.”

Neutral shifted, lightning speed, to annoyance.“That’s bullshit.”

“Don’t tell me what bullshit is when I’m looking at it. You know the way out,” she added, and started by him.

When he grabbed her arm, frostbite burned his fingers.

“Look, bad night, that’s all. Bad night, shitty mood. I shouldn’t have brought them over here.”

“You’re absolutely right.” She shoved his hand away. “Take them home with you.”

She stalked over, poured the beer down the sink.

When she glanced back, she was alone. She felt the jab right under the heart.

“Well,” she mumbled, and carefully rinsed out the bottle. “Okay then. All right.This isn’t going to work for me.”

She imagined heaving the bottle against the wall, hearing the glass shatter. But, she admitted, that didn’t work for her either, so she took it to the recycle bin.

Switching off lights, checking locks, she made her way back through the house, walked upstairs to her wing.

In the bedroom, she undressed, put her shoes away, placed the clothes in the proper hampers before slipping into her oldest and most comforting pajamas.

She completed her bedtime routine, every step.

Then lay angry, miserable, and awake through the night.

“WE DIDN’T HAVE A FIGHT.” PARKER PUSHED THROUGH HER SECOND mile in the gym. “What we have is an impasse.”

“It sounds like a fight to me,” Laurel said.

“A fight is where you argue, or shout, or say inappropriate things.This wasn’t a fight.”

“He left.You’re mad.Those are also elements of a fight.”

“Fine, have it your way,” Parker snapped. “We fought our way to the impasse.”

“He was stupid.”

“At last, we fully agree.”

“He was stupid,” Laurel continued, “to come over here at midnight when something was bothering him if he didn’t intend to tell you what was bothering him. And stupider to leave when you told him to leave because anyone who knows you understands you expected him to argue with you until you broke him down and he told you what was bothering him.”

With a nod, Parker grabbed her water bottle and chugged.

“Then again, he hasn’t known you as long as I have, so it’s possible he took ‘go home’ as just ‘go home.’”

A wet fist of tears clogged her chest. Parker pushed through them as she pushed through the next mile.“I can’t be with someone who won’t talk to me, who can’t be intimate with me except physically.”

“No, you can’t. But intimacy, the real kind, is harder for some than others. I’m not defending him,” Laurel added. “I’m assessing and extrapolating. I’m being you, since you’re too upset to be you.”

“Then I must be annoying. I’m sorry,” she said instantly, and stepped off the machine.“I’m sorry. I didn’t get any sleep, and I’m feeling mean.”

“It’s okay. Sometimes you are annoying.”

With a miserable half laugh, Parker grabbed a towel. “Yeah, I am. I’m annoying myself right now.” Burying her face in the towel, she scrubbed hard. Then just held it there when Laurel’s arms came around her.

“I don’t want to cry because it’s stupid to cry about this. I’d rather be annoying than stupid.”

“You’re not being either, and you know I’d tell you if you were.”

“I can count on you,” Parker said, and taking a steadying breath, lowered the towel.

“You’re pissed off, frustrated, sad, and really tired. So, take a few hours, get some rest. I can take anything that comes in. If I can’t, I’ll tap Emma and Mac.”

“Maybe I’ll take an hour. Go outside, take a walk, clear my head.”

“Whatever works. Give me the phone.”

“Oh, but—”

“I mean it, Parker, give me the phone.” Eyes narrowed, Laurel held out a finger, crooked it. “Otherwise, I’ll be forced to assume Malcolm’s not the only one with trust issues.”

“Unfair,” Parker muttered, but unhooked the phone from her waistband.

She didn’t bother to change, just tossed on a hoodie, zipped it. The brisk, cool air, so fresh from the evening’s rain, felt good. Denuded trees raised their dark arms up into a sky so blue and sharp and bright she regretted not grabbing sunglasses. The grass, hardened from the night’s frost, crunched under her feet.

Autumn, she thought, with its color and shimmer and smoky scents was nearly done and winter creeping up to take its place.

Mac’s wedding was only a month away. Still so much to do, so many details, so many check marks. It was probably for the best she and Malcolm had taken this step back from each other. She needed to focus on the most important wedding Vows had ever planned.

God knew there was plenty to deal with on all the other events, and that didn’t touch on the Seaman extravaganza in the spring, which needed constant attention.