He raises a brow. “Because?”
“You just named a date off the top of your head. This makes me assume you’re one of those organized people who can visualize calendars and commit to schedules. Thing is, I usually can’t remember what day it is.” I’m all over the place, organizationally speaking. “Wait. Are you a spreadsheet person?”
“Not really.” He smiles. “But if you’re trying to pull some weird confession out of me, I use Google Tasks several times a day.”
“See? That’s what I’m talking about. You use digital task managers, and I write on receipt backs that I end up losing. I’m dangerous to your kind of efficiency, Leo.” I pat his shoulder with a slow shake of my head. “I’ll ruin you.”
“I like your kind of danger.” His low-pitched voice smooths over me, pricking my body with chills.
Okay, time to go.
“The fifteenth is a Sunday, if you’re wondering.”
I nod again because, apparently, that’s the only movement my brain allows at present. I could probably do that day and time. It’d be simple to get Gran and Pap their dinners and head here.
“But no pressure. If you don’t show, I’ll take that you’re not interested.”
Oh but I am. Though I’m not sure I can commit. Thankfully, I have two and a half weeks to decide. I love how he doesn’t push for my number or even my name. Just leaves the ball in my court. “Thank you.” I smile at him. “I better get going.”
I don’t know if I should do one of those side-hug things or shake his hand. What is the protocol for this kind of situation? A fist bump?
Leo decides for me by motioning to the sled still in his possession. “Are you sure you don’t want me to haul this to your car?”
Ugh. I forgot about that. I reluctantly take ownership of the distorted contraption. I scan the general vicinity. “Think there’s a garbage bin big enough for it?”
He gently clamps his hand over mine on the sled as if he’s afraid I’m going to launch it into the dumpster from here. “You want to toss it?”
“It’s worthless.”
He scoffs good-naturedly. “This thing carried me on my maiden sledding adventure. I’m wounded you think so little of it.”
“Carried is an iffy word choice.”
His dimples deepen with his wide grin. “I was trying to be somewhat poetic to persuade you to keep it.” His gloved thumb absently runs over the side of my hand, and I’m trying to act casual as if the movement isn’t messing with me.
“You can have it then.”
“Really?” His face softens as if I’ve just given him something of worth rather than a mangled sled.
“Of course.” The bell chimes from the church down the street. It’s like some weird version of Cinderella, but instead of running to a pumpkin carriage, I’ve got a beat-up Highlander awaiting me. However, Leo still has my hands captive on the sled. Not that I mind, but … “I really have to leave.”
He squeezes my fingers and nods. “Thank you for tonight, Greta.”
I really want to say, “See you soon!” but I haven’t dedicated enough time to overthinking this. I settle on a smile and try tolook graceful as I hustle down the walk. I can still feel the heat from his gaze on me.
All my anxieties are present and accounted for.
I am here.
It’s Sunday night, December 15, at exactly 6:59, and I’m perched by the turtledoves as Leo suggested. Since Light-Up Night, I was in a constant battle with myself. This morning, I woke up and was eighty percent uncertain of my certainty. What good could come from going? But then the “what if” scenarios taunted.
What if you don’t get another chance like this?
What if he really is into you?
What if you regret not going?
What if he is The One?
