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She tilted her head and assessed me, but she didn’t frown and question me like I kept expecting her to. Avery didn’t seem to notice that I was weird. But it was probably time to admit it.
My heart beat a little more forcefully while I wiped my hands on my napkin. Fuck, I hated bringing this up, but my end goal here was a future with her, and that meant opening up. “I don’t know if you noticed, but I have a thing about personal space and germs.”
A small crease formed between her brows, and she pressed her lips together for a moment, scrutinizing me. “What do you mean?”
I blew out a breath and made the admission. “My mom died of an infection when I was five.”
I didn’t remember her so much as vague moments with her. But I still remember how afraid I was that I’d catch what she had, or worse, that I’d bring germs home to my dad or my sister. To five-year-old me, the idea that I might be left alone if something happened to them was terrifying.
“Since then, personal space, illnesses, germs, all of it, have been a thing for me. I don’t typically like when people touch me. So hockey was out. Players have to be in one another’s personal space far too much for me to be comfortable.”
She set her spoon down on a napkin and reached out for the hand I rested on the wooden barrel between us. Before she could make contact, though, she pulled back and curled her fingers into a fist. Wearing a frown now, she watched me, her eyes bouncing from my face to my hand and back again. “Do you mind when I touch you?”
I went rigid at the sadness in her tone. The thought that she might not be herself around me anymore because of my confession sat like lead in my stomach. I covered her hand with mine and squeezed.
“No.” That single word left me with an intensity that might have been a bit much for the moment, but I had to make sure she believed me.
She flipped her hand so her palm pressed against mine, and I linked our fingers together.
That was all it took for my body to relax again. Fuck. To say I didn’t mind her touch was a gross understatement.
“Not at all, Avery.”
When this woman touched me, there was no ounce of concern or panic. No, her touch did nothing but settle my soul and fill me with peace, and I had no idea what to do about that.
Me: What do you mean you’re alone?
Blondie: I went over to Wren’s last night, but today I’m just relaxing at home by myself.
Me: That’s dumb. Come over to my place
Blondie: I’m not going to crash your family day.
Me: There’s no way I’ll let you spend Christmas alone. That’s unacceptable. I’ll come get you
Blondie: No way. You can’t leave your family. They drove all the way from Long Island to see you.
Me: The hell I can’t. Either you come over or I’m coming to you
Blondie: Okay. Fine. I’ll come.
Christmas Day
Once I’d gotten her to agree, I set my phone on the counter. I should have asked her what her plans were the second I found out I’d be in Boston for Christmas, but I assumed she’d spend the day with her family. Friends didn’t skip family things to hang out on Christmas. And unfortunately, that’s what we still were. But I was counting down the days to March, when her year of not dating would be up.
She was on my doorman’s list of send straight up, so I didn’t need to let anyone know. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. Emerson had gone to his mother’s for Christmas, but I did have my father and sister here.
“Avery’s coming over,” I announced to the open room, where my dad and my sister were playing ping-pong.
Gianna gaped at me, completely missing the plastic ball my dad sent her way. “On Christmas?”
My response was a grunt. I wasn’t getting into it with her again. These two had asked about her at least a dozen times since they’d arrived. Maybe because I talked about her too much. Regardless, I’d been clear that she and I were just friends.
“Good. I’ve been waiting months to meet the girl.” My dad smiled. “That’s nine points for me. Gi, you’ve only got three.”
Gianna slumped and set the paddle down on the navy-blue ping-pong table.
Emerson and I had picked it up last summer, and for months, he’d made me play almost constantly. Because if there was one thing my roommate wasn’t great at, it was relaxing. It came as no surprise to anyone that the bundle of energy I shared the apartment with couldn’t sit still to save his life. If he didn’t need my help, I’d happily be living on my own. But for as much shit as I gave him, Emerson had grown on me over the years. And I begrudgingly loved the guy.
