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She closes her eyes and drops her head to my knee. “That petition,” she grumbles to the floor. “I get it, but it’s super annoying.”
“What are you going to do about it? Please don’t take the decorations down.”
She straightens. “I have to. I had to give myself a few days to get over being furious, but honestly, I want Evie to have a good experience on this street, and that means appeasing the neighbors. I hope Bill isn’t too disappointed.”
“Bill?” I frown, not following.
“He gave them to us.” She waves her hand. “It’s okay. I’ll figure it out.” She climbs to her feet and holds out a hand to pull me up. The spell is broken, and not even the warmth of her hand in mine can bring it back.
“So, Evie has had the flu for a few days, but she’s feeling better today. She wants to get back to her campaign to convert you to Christmas. I can hold her off if you want.”
I shake my head. “No, it’s fine. She may be making more progress than she thinks.”
Paige tilts her head and smiles at me. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Don’t say yeah. It sounds weird when you say it.”
I slide my hands in my pockets because they twitch with the need to touch her again. “What should I say instead?”
“I don’t know. The real Henry Hill would say ‘affirmative’ or something.”
“Affirmative,” I say.
She nods. “Better. Thank you for hearing me out.” She turns toward the front door. “Bye, Henry.” Then she stops and pivots, sliding her arms around my waist.
I’ve always been an awkward hugger, but perhaps because I didn’t see this one coming, my arms come around her on instinct, my hands settling with open palms one above the other on her back. It’s the perfect position to mold her to me so I can feel every inch of the hug. My breath stops, caught off guard by the way every nerve ending is responding to her.
This is . . . electric.
If she feels it, she doesn’t say. She nestles in closer for a few seconds, and just when I’m sure my hands must be unbearably warm through the cotton of her long-sleeved shirt, she slides away from me and gives me a small wave before disappearing through the door.
I look after her for a full minute at least, then down at my hands, frowning.
The list of things that happen around that woman that I don’t understand continues to grow.
But she’s done what she can do to smooth things over. And I know how to mend the last of the rift between us, because it’s the part I caused.
I fetch a jacket and head into the growing dark.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Paige
Whatwasthat?!
That “meeting” with Henry . . .
It went better than I was afraid it would, for sure. I didn’t even know if he’d agree to hear me out. I hated sitting and telling that story, but for as judgy as Henry often seems to be about things, he didn’t seem at all judgy about this. Interested. Compassionate. Supportive.
Not pitying. Not like he was trying to be a white knight and save me. It was like he was taking the pieces and letting it flesh out the puzzle that I must be to him sometimes.
I feel . . . seen.
But what was that touching thing? The cuddling? The moments at the end that felt like they were about to tip into something more?
That can’t be my imagination. Granted, it’s been a long time since I’ve been in a relationship. I can barely remember the last time I kissed someone. But am I affection starved to the point of imagining things?
