All They Need - By Sarah Mayberry Page 0,27

the deeper gloom of the porch.

“Mel. Hey,” he said, genuinely surprised.

“Oh. You’re here.” She made a nervous gesture with her hand. “When you didn’t answer, I thought maybe you’d gone out. I was just going to leave these here for you…?.”

For the first time he registered the two lanterns and a bottle of what looked to be kerosene at her feet.

“I found these in my shed when I was tidying up this afternoon and thought of you,” she explained.

“I think that’s the nicest thing anyone has said to me all week.”

She smiled, then moved away. Her car keys jingled in her hand. She was about to run again.

“Hang on to them for as long as you like.” She started to take another step backward but he reached out and caught her wrist.

“Not so fast. Before you go rushing off again, I need to make an unmanly confession—I have no idea how to light one of these things.”

Her wrist was warm in his hand. He could feel her pulse beneath his fingertips.

“They’re pretty simple.” She tugged lightly on her wrist and he let her go.

“Does that mean you won’t come in and have a glass of wine with me and show me what to do?”

She glanced over her shoulder, almost as though there was someone waiting for her in the car. For the first time it occurred to him that maybe there was, that maybe she had somewhere else to be.

Someone else to be with.

She was an attractive woman, after all. Young, single. The odds were good that the first guy with eyes in his head had snapped her up once her divorce was finalized.

“Unless I’m stepping on someone else’s toes?” he asked.

“No. I just— Sure, I can show you how to light them.”

He noticed that she’d avoided responding to the rest of his invitation. He grabbed one of the lanterns by its wire handle and held the door wide while she collected the second and the bottle of kerosene. She entered the house and he gestured for her to head into the living room. Firelight cast a warm glow over the room, while the few candles he’d lit created their own small pools of light.

“Do you have matches or a lighter?” Mel asked as she placed her lantern to the left of where he’d set up his camping gear.

He pulled the box of matches from his hip pocket and handed them over. She knelt in front of the first lantern, carefully pouring kerosene into the tank below the wick. A strand of her long, curly hair slid over her cheek and she pushed it back impatiently. She put the lamp together, then lifted the glass shade. A match flared to life in her hand and she applied it to the wick. It took immediately, burning with a bright blue-and-orange flame before settling down. She slid the glass into place and a warm glow spread out from the lantern.

“That’s more like it. Much more civilized,” he said.

Mel glanced at him briefly, her mouth curved into that uncertain smile of hers. Then she shifted to the second lantern and repeated the process.

While she was occupied, he opened the bottle of shiraz and poured wine into two of the plastic tumblers he’d bought along with his other supplies that morning.

“There you go,” Mel said as the second lantern came to life. “When you want to shut them off, just lift the glass and blow out the flame. They can be a bit smelly, so make sure the room stays ventilated.”

She pushed herself to her feet and he held out the glass of wine. She shook her head immediately. “I can’t.”

“Somewhere else to be?”

“Not exactly…”

“Giving wine up for Lent?”

She smiled slightly. “No.”

“Then have a drink with me. It’s my first night in Summerlea and, while I don’t have anything against swilling a whole bottle of wine on my own, as a rule I prefer company.”

She hesitated for a moment longer before taking the glass. “Thank you.”

“Have a seat,” he said, waving toward the array of pillows and rolled-up bedding he’d fashioned into a couch of sorts. “I can offer you a pillow, or a rolled-up sleeping bag and sleeping pad. Nothing but the best.”

She looked as though she wanted to say no again—no doubt she’d planned to simply stand there and gulp down her wine before making a bolt for the door—but after another one of those maddening hesitations she crossed to the fire and knelt to the right of the hearth, her wine