Page 46 of The Life She Had

I want to argue, but that’ll get awkward. So I say simply, “Thank you.”

He wheels the bike toward me, and I start backing up to give him room, but he comes in close and lowers his voice.

“I’m on your side,” he says.

I blink and wonder whether I’ve misheard. On my side... in what? There’s an obvious answer, but it doesn’t quite make sense.

He studies my face. After a second, he nods, as if to himself, and he wrinkles his nose with a smile as he leans back against the wall. “That came out weird, didn’t it? I just mean...” He flails his hands. “I don’t even know what I mean. I’m a mechanic and an accountant—words aren’t really my thing. I just mean that I get the sense you’re going through a lot in your life, and I...”

“Want to help?”

That nose scrunch again, which is far too adorable. The flailing is also adorable, and something in me melts, seeing him so intent on explaining.

“That makes it sound like you’re a defenseless stray kitten. I just... I want to be helpful. No strings attached. I’m not offering because I expect anything. I just...”

He rocks back and rubs at his mouth, gaze slipping to the side. “I can talk. I can talk and talk and talk, as you’ve seen. I don’t do it with everyone. In fact, I don’t do it with most people. But if I’m comfortable with someone, then it’s like they pull the string on my inner Chatty Cathy doll. I’m comfortable with you. I feel like there’s...”

His gaze swings my way, and I’m suddenly very aware of how close he is, the heat radiating off him, the trickle of sweat at his hairline despite the cool evening breeze. Those gorgeous brown eyes meet mine, and his look brings a wave of heat with it as my treacherous body responds.

I swallow, waiting for him to move closer, to take his shot. He doesn’t, though. He stays exactly where he is and says, his voice low, “I don’t expect anything. It’s not that kind of helpful. I just... I need you to know that.”

I nod mutely.

“I wouldn’t do that,” he says.

I nod again.

His fingers brush my hip, and I tense, and I expect him to withdraw, but he only tilts his head, looking at me as if trying to determine whether that tensing means “back off.” He seems to decide it doesn’t, and he stays where he is, fingertips on my hip, correctly interpreting the signal as slow down, proceed with caution. A yellow light, not a red. Not a green, either. He sees that, and he stays in place, close enough for me to hear his breathing as his fingers rest on my hip.

Then he shifts, his gaze meeting mine, a smile touching his lips, half-shy, half-wry. There’s no blaze of the white-hot charisma he gives Celeste. That is a finely honed sword, wielded with almost careless ease. This is the Tom I remember, that smile the exact one that’d played on his lips when he leaned in to kiss me the first time. He makes no move to do that, though, and when his lips part, it’s only to murmur, “I’m on your side. That just means...”

“I know what it means. Thank you.”

I touch his hand, one finger tracing down his, looking up into his eyes with a smile that I hope is friendly and warm and promises nothing. I can promise nothing. Not yet. But after...?

I haven’t let myself think of “after.” Of when the lies and the deceptions are swept away. I won’t think of it, either. Better to just offer a smile that, if it promises anything at all, promises what we had once upon a time. Friendship with the faintest possibility of more.

“You wanna go back to my place?” he whispers with a mock-suggestive wiggle of his brows. “Do a little stargazing?” His lips drop to my ear as he whispers, “I refilled the orange soda.”

I laugh as I give him a push, and he leans in to whisper something else and—

A throat clears beside us, startling me, and I stumble, Tom catching me as we look over to see Celeste standing there, arms crossed.

“Did I interrupt something?”

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