A part of me knows I should pull away. But I feel so comfortable I can’t. What’s the harm in enjoying this moment even if it only lasts for a second? I know it’s fleeting, and I know it will end, so I let myself savor it.
Something’s so comforting about him it’s almost scary. In the past, I’ve made bad choices and trusted people I shouldn’t have, so it makes me worry about the future. I don’t let myself dwell on it.
I stay there and let him hold me even though I shouldn’t. I let him comfort me even though it’s a bad idea. I stay there tucked inside his arms until the boat docks and it’s time to leave.
When it’s time to move, he lightly pushes off me, but he takes my arm in his, cradling my elbow in the crook of his arm. To someone who didn’t know us, it would seem we were together, but nothing could be further from the truth.
We are not.
But knowing that I might be leading him on doesn’t stop me. He hasn’t made a pass at me. Not since the beginning. He’s respected that all I can give him is friendship, so who cares what anyone else thinks.
Together, we walk off the boat and on to Ellis Island.
The ground is hard beneath our feet, surely starting to freeze from the winter cold.
As we walk toward the building, I look across the water, and in the distance, I can see the Statue of Liberty. I wonder if he will take me there.
The freedom she symbolizes. A pang in my heart captures me, and I feel like my oxygen is becoming depleted.
“Are you okay?” he asks as I stop moving.
“Sorry, I . . .” I try to think of something to say. Something to make sense of the emotions being forced from the depth of my chest. But I can’t think of a plausible reason for why I stopped.
“My foot.”
“Your foot?” he asks.
“Yeah. Umm. It got caught on a rock.”
Goddammit.
Is that really the best I can do? Even I know that was a pathetic excuse.
He looks down at the ground and then back up. He stares right into my eyes, and I wait for him to say something. To make a witty comment and call me out on my bullshit. But he doesn’t, and I’m profoundly thankful for that. Because I don’t know what I would say if he did. I’m not even sure I know what’s wrong with me, so how can I explain it to him?
“I hate when that happens,” he says. He continues to walk, and I follow him. We step inside, and he lets go of my hands. He stops his movements and turns to face me.
“My family came through here,” he offers with a smile. “It’s kind of cool to see.”
“It is.”
“How many generations are you in America?” I ask.
“To be honest, I don’t really know.” He laughs.
“You don’t?” I say, lifting my eyebrow. “How’s that possible?”
“To be frank, I’m kind of a selfish dick.” He chuckles. “Or at least that’s what my brother says.”
A line in his forehead appears as he furrows his brow. I can tell that his brother is a sore topic for him. On instinct and without wanting to, my hand reaches out and takes his. He’s warm to the touch, which is surprising because of the cold.
“I don’t think you are a selfish prick.”
“I said dick.” He chuckles.
“Same difference.” I shrug. “But I really don’t think that. If anything, I think you’re quite the opposite. I think you’re the least selfish prick I know.”
“You don’t know me that well.”
“I know you well enough. I know you helped me that night. I know you have gone out of your way to make me feel not alone in this city. I know a dick wouldn’t do that. So yes. I might not know you well. But I know assholes, real assholes, and you are not one of them.”
“If you say so.”
“I do. Deal with it.”
I’m rewarded with a smile, his lips tipping up and a small sexy dimple forming on his right cheek.
Shit.
Did I refer to Jaxson as sexy?
Yes. I did.
This is bad.
“Come on, show me this place and tell me the little information you know about your family history.” I laugh.
He nods and walks, keeping my hand in his. I keep pace and allow him to lead me in to hear the history and get to know Jaxson Price better.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Jaxson
Now that I’m playing tour guide to Willow, I’m excited for Saturdays to come. I still see her on Fridays at the poker game, but we hardly get to chat. Yet, she always gives me a small, knowing smile as if she’s trying to tell me how excited she is for the plans for the next day.