Hannah walked over his threshold, hesitated like she was going to come clean, then stopped. “I was promised ice cream and a cookie.”
“And you’ll get it. I wouldn’t lie to you, Freckles.” He set down her bag by his small, two-person kitchen table, searching her face for some indication of how she felt about his apartment. “Come on.”
It was purely his nature to distract himself with something physical. One second Hannah’s feet were planted on the ground, the next he’d plucked her up and settled her onto his kitchen counter. He’d performed the action without a thought. At least until her pretty lips popped open in surprise as her butt hit the surface of the counter. The feel of her waist lingered on his palms, and he was definitely thinking then about things he shouldn’t.
Reeling his hands back, Fox cleared his throat hard. He stepped to the side to open a cabinet and removed his blue metal first-aid kit. “Talk.”
She shook her head as if to clear it. Then opened her mouth, closed it again. “Remember how I told you I wanted to assert myself more at work?”
“Yeah. You want to make a shift to soundtracks.”
She’d told Fox about her dreams of compiling song lists for films last summer, namely the day they’d gone to the record expo together. Fox remembered every single thing about that day. Everything she’d said and done. How good it felt to be with her.
Realizing he was staring into space, recalling the way her elegant fingers walked through a record stack, he wet a cotton ball with antiseptic and stepped close, hesitating only a second before pushing the hair back from her forehead. Their gazes met and danced away quickly. “Are you going to cry when this stings?”
“No.”
“Good.” He blotted the wound with cotton, his gut seizing up when she hissed a breath. “So? What happened with creating the soundtracks?” he blurted, to distract himself from the fact that he was causing her pain.
“Well . . .” She breathed a sigh of relief when he removed the soaked cotton ball. “I’m kind of a glorified serf at the production company. When a task arises and no one wants to do it, they summon me like Beetlejuice.”
“I can’t imagine you as anyone’s serf, Hannah.”
“It’s by choice. I wanted to learn the industry, then work my way up on my own merit, you know?” She watched him sort through the bandage section of his kit. “We were almost to Westport. I thought this trip could be my chance to . . . flirt with a higher position. I was just about to ask Sergei and Brinley if I could observe the soundtrack process, and that’s when Hannah went splat.”
“Oh, Freckles.”
“Yeah.”
“So you didn’t get to ask at all?”
“No. Maybe it was a sign that I’m not ready.”
Fox snorted. “You were born ready for making soundtracks. I have seven months of text messages to prove it.”
At the mention of the texts, their eyes clashed, splotches of pink waking up in her cheeks. Blushing. He had a friend’s blushing little sister sitting on his kitchen counter. Jesus Christ. Before he could reach out and test the temperature of those splotches with his fingertips, he went back to sorting through bandages.
“All right,” he said. “One missed opportunity. You’ll have more, right?”
Hannah nodded but said nothing.
Kept right on saying nothing as he applied Neosporin to her cut and laid the small Band-Aid on top, smoothing it with his thumb.
Not leaning in to kiss her when they were inches away felt foreign. Had he ever gotten this close to a woman besides his mother without the intention of sealing their mouths together? Flipping through his memories, he couldn’t pinpoint a single time. On the other hand, he couldn’t recall all the times he had kissed women. Not with any clarity.
He’d remember kissing Hannah.
No the fuck you won’t.
With grabby movements, Fox collected the Band-Aid wrapper and opened a lower cabinet so he could brush it into the trash. “Wanting to observe doesn’t seem like a big ask, Hannah. I’m sure they’ll say yes.”
“Maybe.” She chewed her lip a moment. “It’s just . . . did you notice the woman who was walking with Sergei?”
“No,” he answered honestly.
Hannah hummed, looking at him thoughtfully. “She’s the music coordinator. Brinley.” She picked up a hand and let it drop. “I can’t see myself doing anything that woman does. She’s . . .”
“What?”
“A leading lady,” Hannah said on an exhale, looking almost relieved to have gotten that baffling statement off her chest.
Fox’s confusion cleared. “You mean, she’s one of the actresses?”
“No, I mean she’s a leading lady in life. Like my sister.”
Nope, still confused. “I’m lost, Hannah.”
She fell forward slightly with a laugh. “Never mind.”
Damn. She’d only been here for five minutes, and he already wasn’t living up to the friend status. Did she not want to confide in him? It scared him how much he wanted to earn her trust.