She snorts, pressing her hand to the underside of her nose. “You want to chill with my dad, huh?”
I bump into her this time. “I said I could, not that I wanted to, but honestly? Yeah, I kinda do.”
“Do you really watch Jeopardy?”
I nod, not intending for the smile and laughter to end so abruptly, but my face grows serious to respond, so hers does, too.
“I do. I actually started watching the day I met you.” I bump her again because it’s contact and god, do I want contact with her. “You didn’t forget that day, did you?”
The tip of her nose is extra pink as we walk beneath the street light, which flickers on almost perfectly as we walk underneath. Her breath hovers in a cloud in front of her as she stops, turning to face me.
“It got cold,” I say, wishing like fuck I had my leather jacket. “My jacket’s in my car. You can wear it to warm up.”
She smiles, and doesn’t decline the offer, and I like that. I want to see her in my jacket.Hisjacket, but it’s been in my possession so long, it feels like mine.
“Don’t change the subject,” she says, stacking her arms over her chest. “I remember the day I met you. How could I forget being told to both calm down and be quiet in the span of five minutes?”
I wince, blinking one eye shut tight. “I hate that I said that.”
She laughs. “Then why did you?”
“I was drunk.” Again, my smile falls away, and sometimes the idea of lifting my lips to pretend seems like way too much weight, so I don’t try to fake it in front of her. “The night my dad passed away, I started drinking. And I didn’t stop until the day I met you.”
She swallows as her eyes search mine for answers.
“I started watching Jeopardy at night to focus on something.” I grin. “I don’t really search the answers on Wikipedia, though. Your parents have me beat there.”
“They’re crazy,” she says, but she doesn’t smile, and her eyes don’t leave mine. “I’m glad you’re better.”
“Getting, yeah. I’m not gonna pretend I don’t need some therapy.” We both laugh, and it douses the ember of fear in my gut with cool, sweet relief. She isn’t judging my coping, and she isn’t scolding my past behavior. The thought makes me want to wrap my hand around her neck and drop the other to her hip and jerk her toward me for the hottest kiss ever. “But I don’t drink anymore. At all.”
“You were a mess that day.” She smiles sadly, and god, do I want to be in a place in my life where I never have to see that kind of smile again. I’m sick of it. “But I’m glad you’re better.”
“You already said that.”
“Maybe I really mean it.”
We continue walking.
The back of her hand brushes mine, our grazing knuckles sending a ripple of heat up my arm, straight to my chest. My heart pumps wildly as I curl my pointer finger around hers, then slide our fingers together.
I haven’t held hands with a woman since… high school? I don’t even remember.
It takes courage, but I look over at her, and she isn’t looking at me, but she’s smiling, so I squeeze her hand. Another happy few silent steps and we’re at my car in front of her house.
“Geez,” she says, smoothing her hand down the side of the passenger door. Our hands split when I reach for her door, bracing my other on her lower back. I pull it open, and she stares at the leather interior.
“Again… geez. This is a beautiful car, Beau.”
I look at the sleek Tesla SUV and do not even attempt to hide my grin. “It really is. I absolutely love it.”
Her brow raises. “But you’re a mechanic. Aren’t these cars like zero maintenance?”
I nod. “Yeah. I guess you can liken it to being a hairstylist or something. If you do hair all day, you probably don’t want to come home and do hair.”
She still looks puzzled. I lean against the car, and so does she. The door is open; our date is waiting. But I love that when we get going, we are so focused on each other that everything else becomes trivial.
“You wouldn’t come home and work on a car, though, would you?”