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And though I really, really wished I could hate him again and go back to blaming every hurt and misunderstanding on his arrogant, schemingWellbridgenesslike I had in the past,I couldn’t manage to get there either.
In short, I was screwed.
“Why? Why did I let this happen again?” I leaned over the sink and looked at myself in the mirror. I was wide-eyed and manic, like only a man in the throes of an anxiety attack could be. “I’m a fucking idiot. Since when have I ever been able to guard my heart from this man? Since never.”
The door opened, letting in a rush of noise from the restaurant along with my date. JT’s face was creased with concern, and I had no idea how I was going to explain my erratic behavior… let alone my hyperventilation.
But it turned out I didn’t have to.
“C’mere,” he murmured, reaching for the front of my button-down shirt and fisting it to haul me close. He wrapped his arms around me in a crushing hug and simply held me without saying a word.
“Sorry,” I managed to choke out. “For—”
“Don’t. It’s my fault for pushing you to talk about stressful things when you didn’t want to.”
That was not the reason I’d been upset. Not remotely. But I let it stand.
I tried to pull away, but JT’s arms held firm. “Two more minutes,” he murmured. “Just breathe.”
Two minutes?
I was not a hugger by nature. I wasn’t sure I’d ever hugged anyone for such a long stretch, not even Willow when I was a tiny baby. And given the swirling vortex of emotions happening inside me, it would have felt less dangerous for JT to suggest bungee jumping without a cord or skydiving without a parachute.
But after several beats, the tension in my shoulders began to ease as my body melted against his. His broad palm smoothed up and down my back comfortingly, and I shuddered out a breath as I let my arms come around him, too.
He was warm and strong, familiar and… mine. At least for the time being. For the duration of this hug. Of this dinner. For tonight. I wasn’t going to think further than that.
“You okay now?”
I took a deep breath, surprised to find that my lungs were working normally again. “Oh, yeah. Totally over it,” I lied. I cleared my throat. “And you’re right. This was definitely all your fault. Which means I get to collect my forfeit.”
JT did exactly what I needed. He pulled back just far enough to shoot me a teasing glare that made the world firm beneath my feet once more. “Pffft. Eating cold lobster is my forfeit, Firecracker.”
“Pffft, yourself. If you’d ordered the shrimp like I suggested, they’d still taste okay cold.” I pulled away from his embrace, grabbed his hand, and led him out to the dining area. “Besides, just have them heat up your melted butter, and you’ll never notice the lobster is cold. Better yet, just throw back the ramekin of butter, and don’t even worry about the lobster.”
JT’s bright grin helped release the last of my tension and embarrassment. “Such aphilistine,” he said in a perfect imitation of his mother’s haughty accent. “Just what I’d expect from aHoneycutt.”
I laughed out loud and squeezed his fingers tighter. God, the man was everything kind and attentive, and so damn easy to be with when I wasn’t expending all my energy hating his guts.
I bit my lip and darted a glance at his profile. Okay, so this was going to end in disaster. That was a given. But I’d survived disasters before, and I would do it again.
What Iwasn’tgoing to do was continue freaking out and holding JT at arm’s length, especially when I’d agreed to a temporary thing in the first place. It wasn’t fair to him. To either of us. For once, I was going to enjoy every minute of the calm before the storm.
Stick to easy, nondramatic topics,Honeycutt.
Usually this was easier said than done, at least for me.
But when we sat back down and I saw the candlelight do its magic on his face again, I remembered something Willow had said once about gargling salt water for “centering halotherapy” when crystals and other items were unavailable. So, apropos of nothing, I told him the story of how, at the age of six, my brother PJ had taken her advice and dumped a saltshaker into his ice water at a restaurant in Bar Harbor before gargling his little butt off in front of everyone.
JT didn’t seem to mind this abrupt right turn in conversation topic. In fact, he seemed downright thrilled that I was sharing a silly story.
He followed that up with a hilarious story about the time Reagan had done Beyoncé’s “Single Ladies” dance in the Senator’s box at a Red Sox game on a dare, not realizing that “The Star-Spangled Banner” had already begun playing down on the field. When the cameras had panned to the box to get the Senator’s reaction to the national anthem being played, Reagan’s prank had been broadcast nationally. “It lookedexactlylike Reagan was shaking his ass to the music,” JT gasped through his laughter, which set me off laughing, too. “My dad had to make a statement to the press later about how Reagan was just really,reallypatriotic.”
I laughed so hard I grabbed his hand on the tabletop, and JT twined our fingers together.
By the time our food came, I felt centered, as if I’d gargled the magical salt water myself. It was a potent reminder that not everything between us had to be scary or fraught with emotion. When I let myself stop thinking about the past or worrying about the future, the two of us could simply…be. And it was wonderful.
As we ate, he told me about his life in the city, the people he sometimes played squash with, the restaurants he preferred, the sights he saw when he jogged. He mentioned a sales incentive trip he’d taken with his coworkers to a swanky resort in Puerto Rico.
