I really should have worn flats.
He shakes his head beside me. “I like the version who paints in those sexy overalls and gets real quiet when she’s nervous. The one who tries not to smile when I call her beautiful.”
I look up, opening my mouth to protest, but he raises his eyebrows in challenge, “And yeah,” he goes on, “maybe I don’t know everything yet. But I want to.”
I stare at him, my throat tight with all the things I want to say and can’t. He doesn’t push, he doesn’t expect me to say anything back, but he lifts our joined hands and presses a kiss to the back of mine.
And somehow, that means more than anything else could have.
We sit like that for a while, letting the music from the square drift between us, and after a while, I lean over and lay my head on his shoulder.
He just holds me tighter.
When it’s almost fully dark, Nate sits up straight, stretching, and gives me that stupidly charming smile. “So, was it the worst first date in history?”
I huff out a breath. “No.”
“No? Top ten, at least?”
“It was really nice,” I admit with a bit of reluctance.
“Good. ‘Cause I’m already planning the next one.”
“Bold of you to assume there will be a second date, Coach.”
“You’re still holding my hand, Ms. Patel.”
Nate
She’s still holding my hand as we head back toward the school, our shadows stretching in the streetlights.
Her hand fits real nice in mine.
Like it’s meant to be there.
Tonight went better than I could’ve ever hoped.
Sure, I embarrassed myself at the bottle toss and tried a cheese dip so hot that it about had steam coming outta my ears, but I got to hear her laugh.
I got to watch her light up when she won her prize.
I got to sit next to her and feel her head on my shoulder.
I’d stay like that forever if she let me.
The sun’s gone down, taking the warmth of the day with it. The wind picks up as we cross the edge of the lot, rustling the trees and sending a chill across my arms. Iris shivers, wrapping her arms tight around that stuffed bear, her shoulders drawn in.
“You cold?” I ask, even though I already know the answer. She shrugs, starts to say she’s fine, but I’m not having that.
I nod toward the red beast parked under a parking light. “My truck’s right here.”
I let go of her to dig around the backseat and pull out a red and white hoodie that says COACH on the back. It’s old andfaded, from several years ago now, but it’s still warm.
I offer it to her.
She hesitates, but takes it, looking at it with wide eyes. “Thank you,” she says sincerely.
“Looks good on you,” I say, when she pulls it over her head.
