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“I was just surprised. You can touch me.”
Touch me everywhere, I wanted to beg.
We watched sharks circle, gliding smoothly past the glass, all with our hands clasped like a couple.
I’m surprised Paige isn’t dizzy from the insane amount of mixed signals I’m sending her. It’s like there’s a tiny corner of my brain that knows what the right thing to do is and can shout about it pretty loud but has absolutely no control over my limbs or my mouth.
This is driven home when I reach up, using my thumb to wipe away a non-existent bit of sugar on her cheek. “There. You’re good to go.”
Paige grins at me then moves to stand. “You need to be anywhere, or you still okay to wander?”
An easy out, but I have no interest in taking it. “I could wander.”
We walk by street artists and musicians, pausing ever so often to listen or watch them work. At some point our hands twine together again, but I couldn’t say who made the first move. The weather is perfect, mid-seventies and sunny.
It’s like the world is telling me to relax and enjoy this. To let my guard down.
At one point, Paige’s steps slow, and I realize she’s staring into a shop window. Just behind the glass is a short green dress that’s captured her attention.
“You want to go try it on?”
She jumps at my question, then gives me a sheepish look. “Oh, no. That’s okay.”
“I don’t mind. Let’s go in.” I try to move to the front door, but Paige tugs on my hand to stop me.
“Dash, no. I was just looking. It’s cute, but it’s not for me.”
The comment doesn’t make sense because I’ve already pictured what she’d look like wearing the dress, and I have a strong urge to see my imagination made a reality.
“What do you mean, it’s not for you?”
“It’s too short,” she mutters.
“Paige, you took your shirt off in front of me the first time I came over to your house.” Her sudden onset of modesty fuels my curiosity flame.
“I don’t care if you see my stomach.” She snaps her mouth shut as if she just revealed too much.
I should let it go, but I want to know everything there is to discover about this odd, sweet woman.
Knowing its manipulative, but doing it anyway, I move in close, so she has to tilt her head up to meet my eyes. Then I hold her chin pinched between my forefinger and thumb and speak low, so it’s only the two of us that can hear.
“Why don’t you want me to see your legs?”
“It’s not just you, it’s everyone.” I might believe her if she didn’t avoid my eyes while making the claim.
I decide not to push her on that particular detail. “Okay, then why don’t you wanteveryoneto see your legs?”
She keeps staring off to the side but doesn’t back away from me. I’d let her go if she did. At least, I think I would.
“In high school, I got into a car accident. It was…pretty bad. My leg got a bit messed up. They fixed it with screws and everything, but now I’ve got this thick ugly scar.” Her teeth tug on her bottom lip, sparkling white against petal pink.
“That’s impossible.”
She scowls up at me. “It’s my leg. I think I’d know whether or not there’s a scar on it.”
“I don’t doubt there’s a scar. But I do challenge you calling it ugly.” Her mouth pops open, but I continue talking over her. “You’re going to have an extremely difficult time trying to convince me that anything about you is ugly. It’s an impossible task, really.”
With my fingers touching her face, I can feel the heat of her blush as it spreads over her skin.
