Savage Collision: A Hawke Family Novel (The Hawke Family Book 1) by Gwyn McNamee Page B

some of the tension between us. Tension I caused.
    Shit. I have some serious making up to do.
     

She picks at her food, complimenting me on how good it is but barely eating anything. Her eyes flicker over to me every couple of minutes but she doesn’t say much, and I can sense her unease returning.
    It’s only natural but it’s so different from the last time we had dinner. It saddens me to know I caused this. I’m the only one to blame for her discomfort and confusion, and I wish I could kick myself for not just telling her from the beginning. I might have saved both of us some heartache, and from having a really uncomfortable dinner tonight.
    An awkward silence settles over the table and she fidgets with her napkin and glass, avoiding eye contact again.
    She’s thinking. She’s making her list of questions. She’s too afraid or embarrassed to ask.
    “Why don’t you take another bottle of wine and the glasses out onto the deck, and I will clean up and then join you?”
    Her eyes flicker up to mine and the corners of her mouth turn up into a half-hearted, fake smile.
    Shit. She is really uncomfortable. What the hell did you expect, dropping it on her like this?
    She slides her chair back from the table and approaches me slowly. Stopping in front of me, she pauses as she reaches for my wine glass. “Are you sure you don’t need any help cleaning up?”
    “Nope, I got it.” I give her a reassuring smile and hope it helps her relax, but she grabs my glass and the bottle of wine quickly and disappears toward the living room without even glancing back.
    Double shit.
    I clear the plates from the table and load them into the dishwasher with the baking dishes and pots before I head out to the deck. When I reach the sliding glass door, I stop and watch her.
    She’s lying on one of the chaise lounges, soaking up the last of the waning light of the sunset. Her eyes are closed, face turned up toward the sky, hair blowing in the light breeze. She’s a picture of pure beauty. To anyone taking a quick glance, she might even look relaxed and peaceful; but, I know better. I see the crinkles around her eyes as she squeezes them closed, the lines around her slightly-frowning mouth, and the way she’s gripping her wine glass so hard her knuckles are white.
    She doesn’t know what to do, what to say. You’ve put her in an impossible position. You’re a selfish asshole. You should have told her from day one.
    Dinner sits like a lead weight at the bottom of my stomach. I take a deep breath to avoid it coming back up and open the door before moving out onto the deck.
    Her eyes fly open and she turns her head in my direction. When she sees me, she looks almost panicked and the tension in the air is so thick I can feel it weighing down on me like the late summer humidity. I want to wipe the trepidation from her face, the reservation from her stare, but I don’t know how.
    “Why don’t you pour me another glass?”
    She nods and reaches for the bottle, slowly pouring me a glass of wine while I move from my chair onto the chaise lounge parallel to hers. I feel her eyes on me the entire time, and I know she must have a million questions by now.
    Once I settle in, she hands me my glass and returns to other chaise, her body turned slightly toward me.
    That’s a good sign, right?
    “Ask,” I order, watching her shift anxiously in her seat.
    Her head whips up and her eyes widen in surprise. “Uh, ask what?”
    I smile at her and take a long sip of my wine, never looking away.
    “Ask the million and one questions I know you must have but are either too afraid or embarrassed to ask. I promise you, I’ve already answered them a hundred times for other people, and you won’t offend me with anything you have questions about. I brought you into this without giving you all the information, and that wasn’t fair of me. I’m sorry. So, ask. I’m an open book.”
    She takes a deep breath and pulls her bottom lip between her teeth,