She frowned, and I could see her thoughts churning.
“Hey.” I grabbed her hand and squeezed it. “I like that you came. I like that you worried about me. It means you’re thinking about me.” I tried to sound light despite the absolute truth of my words.
I loved that she showed up. I loved that all the guys got to see that she was worried about me, and honestly, I wouldn’t care if the whole town knew. It was so nice to be fussed over by Sophie.
“I’m always thinking about you, Pace,” she said as though that were the most obvious thing.
It didn’t even matter how much shit I got from the other guys. I didn’t stop smiling the rest of the night.
24
Sophie
Despite Pace’sreassurance that I hadn’t totally embarrassed him in front of his firefighter peers, I did, in fact, worry the rest of that night.
Levi and Claire took me home, and I probably would have ruminated on my feelings until Thanksgiving if Pace hadn’t called me about an hour later. We ended up talking well into the next day, and nary a kiss was mentioned again.
We had made plans to knock off the fall event to-do list item a week later for real this time, which was tonight.
He told me to come to his place first, and we would take his truck over to the pumpkin patch just outside town. It was time for the Annual Throwing of the Pumpkins. Now that Halloween was over, Cozy Creek loved to see who could throw the pumpkins the furthest. I think people just liked to watch them explode. What a strange little town we were.
I didn’t mind the short walk, and I was more than eager to see where he lived. Based on all our chats, I knew that he rented and was hardly ever home, but I was surprised to see just hownondescript his house was. It looked like all the townhouses around it, with nothing that told me it was his home, other than the house number.
Did it feel like home when he was here? Did he feel more comfortable at the station?
I hadn’t stopped thinking about him. There was no doubt in my mind how close I was to falling for him. I was on a precipice I couldn’t come back from. If I were being honest, my reaction the night of the fire told me everything. But it hurt to think about that, so I didn’t.
We were also close to being done with the list. If I could keep all this nonsense on lock and under control until we crossed off the final things, then I would be golden.
The list needed to be complete. I needed to be fixed. I couldn’t get sidetracked now when I’d gotten further than I ever had.
I could get back to my safe, small reality where I only saw Pace on calendars later, but for now, I needed to stay on task. I ignored how sick I felt, thinking aboutaftercompleting the list, and knocked on his door. There was no hesitation before the door swung open, as if he’d been standing there waiting.
Bit by bit, I’d learned parts of Pace that I thought were open to everyone. But the more time I spent with him, the more I understood that he shared very little of his inner self with the world. It wasn’t that he was fake with anybody else; he shared a certain part of himself equally with everyone, but it was a specific version of him.
It had only taken weeks of near-constant companionship, but it was evident that I had entirely misjudged Pace and his lifestyle in the exact same way I feared being misunderstood.
Another thing to be shoved way down.
Take that, Dr. Spinner. If she wouldn’t be my doctor, I wouldn’t healthily process anything in real time. I stuck out my mental tongue at my therapist.
“Hey,” he said as he welcomed me into a simple, undecorated living room.
He was wearing his favorite pair of jeans—incidentally, also my favorite pair of his jeans—that snugged his thighs just right and a tight T-shirt that accentuated his muscles. He was in the process of pulling on a thick flannel and buttoning it when I got lost in the vision that was Pace Leigh putting clothes on rather than taking them off. Who’d’ve thought?
I’d imagined I’d develop an immunity to his attractiveness, that repeated exposure would dull the effect. Not unlike my exposure therapy tampering the fear of interaction.
Nope.
It was the opposite. An addict who no longer gets the rush of that first hit and needs a stronger dose to feel neutral.
I was so screwed.
“Hi,” I said, remembering that, customarily, greetings went both ways.
“Sorry. I’m not ready yet. I’m dragging my feet tonight,” Pace said as I followed him deeper into the house.
Except for now, I was looking at his feet. He must have gone again for a pedicure because they looked great: clean, well-trimmed, freaking sexy, and masculine.
