“Then they can enjoy it with you,” he said. “Go on in. I will wait here.”
“Damon, please. You cannot stay in the car.”
He let out a short, dry laugh that did not reach his eyes.
“I am not walking in there beside you looking like a desperate joke,” he said.
My breath caught in my throat, but I forced my hand toward the door handle.
“I am going inside,” I said, pressing the plastic latch.
The cold autumn air hit my face immediately, carrying the smell of damp earth and woodsmoke from the nearby houses. Damon unbuckled his seatbelt with a sharp click and pushed his own door open, stepping out into the gravel.
He did not walk around to my side of the car to offer a hand. He stood by his open door, his grey hair lifting in the wind as he glared across the roof of the sedan.
“Look at yourself, Elena,” he said, his voice rising over the sound of a passing SUV on Main Street.
