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When these five days are over, we’ll go back to being “hey yourself” buddies who squabble over whose turn it is to buy beers at The Moon.
But right now, I’m not her “hey yourself” buddy. I’m here in this little stupid yurt with her and she’s staring at me with her big, green, dark-finger-framed eyes.
I’m close to her—only three feet away.
When did I even cross the room? I don’t remember doing that.
She pokes a hand out and tugs at my open barn coat. “I don’t have a problem with your worn-out, boring outfits, Cole. You want to go around looking like you just crawled out from under some rusted Ford, go for it. My problem is that you can’t do interpretive dance in this jacket.”
Then I see it. The flicker of amusement dancing in her green eyes. She’s getting a kick out of this. I feel the corner of my mouth inch up.
“What, are we supposed to sway around, pretending to be trees in the wind or something?”
A grin breaks across her perfect, red lips and she giggles. “I was wondering that. Maybe we’ll be animals? I do a mean crab walk.”
“Yeah, I doubt that.”
She laughs for real, tilting her head back. Her shimmer-dusted eyes get squinty. Wow, it feels good to make her laugh.
And that was the only reason I said that thing, about crab walking anyway. ‘Cause based on that look in her eye, I knew there was a laugh in there and I wanted to get it out of her. And I did.
Her light, bubbly, tinkling laugh makes me feel good inside. Better than I’ve felt all day, actually.
She slides the edge of her finger under one lid, then the other, wiping away stray tears and catches her breath. “Crab walking’s for heroes.I should start writing down some of the things you say this week, like a logbook of quotes or something. Oh my gosh, this is so crazy. I can’t believe we’re actually here, doing this. Okay, well whatever this dancing ceremony’s about, you can’t wear jeans to it.”
“I have news for you, Sugar. All I got’s jeans.”
“Sugar?” She arches a brow playfully.
“We’re a couple, right?”
“I figured you’d be a ‘baby’ kinda guy. Or ‘doll’, like we’re greasers in the fifties, and you’ve got a pack of cigarettes tucked in your t-shirt sleeve.”
“You want me to call you ‘doll’?”
She scrunches her nose.
“No!”
“Okay then, Sugar it is.”
“Fine. Seriously, though, you can’t dance in dungarees. You can borrow a pair of my leggings.”
I am standing entirely too close to her.
We’re both grinning like fools, and I don’t know when it started or how to stop it.
Thankfully, she swivels on her heel, turns back to her suitcase, and digs inside. And I just stand, rooted to the spot, watching the ripples of her curls.
I want to run my fingers through her hair.
Nope.
I back up a step.
Then another. By the time she turns around again, I’m a safe distance away. She tosses a bundle of fabric my way. I chuckle as I hold up the stretchy, pink pants.
“Now, these pants…theseare for heroes. Definitely not a guy like me.”
