I wander around the pack house for a while, looking for something to do, but my thoughts are consumed with Nash.
I sense his return a little before lunch. Out the window, I can see him, walking back toward the pack house. Thrilled, I grab some sandwiches and sodas from the fridge in the kitchen and run down to meet up with him.
“Hi, Nash,” I say, giving him a gentle hug. He looks exhausted, so I hand him a sandwich and a soda. “I was hoping we could talk about everything that just happened.”
“Yeah, that would probably be smart,” Nash mumbles. He opens his soda with a loud fizzing noise, and we sit down on the sand, looking out over the ocean.
“I’m really sorry, first off, for taking Regan seriously enough that I would bring that stuff to you first thing in the morning,” I say.
“Not
