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Yes, pleaseis the first thought that drifts through my head, even though it’s obvious he’s not going to throw me down on his bed.
Once I’m all set up with my crutches, he leads me toward the balcony, then mutters under his breath and says, “I think we should go for a walk, actually.”
“I’m not much for walking these days,” I say, swinging my right crutch into the air a little.
“A drive,” he corrects. “We can go see those leaves.”
“Didn’t you already do that today?” I ask, baffled.
“They’re still there.”
There’s something off about his tone, in his behavior. He’s skittish, and nervous energy seems to be pumping off him. He keeps messing with his pocket even though there doesn’t appear to be anything in it.
“What about lunch?” I ask. “Shouldn’t we pack something?”
“We’ll get something while we’re out.”
It’s obvious he wants to leave, now, without talking this out in the apartment. My paranoid brain kicks in, reminding me about that woman across the way. Did he find out she’s been watching us? Does she have a…a bug in the apartment?
I can’t think why the mystery woman would have it in for us. I’ve seen Daphne’s photo, so I know it’s not her, and as far as I know, I haven’t pissed anyone off enough for them to go to the trouble of renting a very expensive apartment just so they can watch me from it. But Danny…maybe she’s there for him.
The thought puts a sick twist in my chest, so I don’t say anything as we leave the apartment. I don’t say anything as we put on our coats and walk down the stairs. We make it down without any further hamster incidents or run-ins with overly friendly and informative neighbors.
When we get settled inside his car, the passenger seat pushed all the way back so I can get my leg straight in front of me, I turn look at him. He gives his head a slight shake that tells me he’s concerned there might be something in the car too. Well, fuck, that’s not good.
“You’re kind of freaking me out,” I whisper through my teeth.
“I’m kind of freaking myself out,” he replies in an undertone. But he buckles himself in and looks over to make sure I’ve done the same before backing out of the lot, so at least we’re not dealing with a car chase scenario yet.
We make small talk as the car winds farther up the mountain. Okay, correction—I make small talk, asking him about his sister, my interest increasing when he tells me about her plans for “Vanny.”
After several twists and turns, we turn onto the Blue Ridge parkway. The leaves are a canopy of red and gold around us, although several trees are already bare. The day is crisp but sunny—about as beautiful as a fall day in the mountains can get. If we were to open the window, I’ll bet the air would smell of apple spice, with a hint of campfire on the backend, because people are making fires in their hearths and backyards at this time of year. Many of the old houses have oil heating, and fire is cheaper than oil. I may be a summer girl at heart, but I appreciate it. I’d appreciate it even more if we weren’t potentially fleeing a…
A what?
A stalker?
An observer?
Finally, Danny pulls over and parks the car on the crispy grass, strewn with leaves. There are no other cars around, no people.
He helps me out of the car, and I feel utterly ridiculous to be up here, on a mountain, with crutches.
“We’re not going far.” He points toward a patch of trees that looks exactly like all of the others. “There’s a bench hidden in there. You can leave the crutches. I’ll carry you.”
Two weeks ago, I would have insisted on making my own way.
Two weeks ago, I broke my ankle because I was being stubborn.
“Okay.”
He sweeps me up off my feet for what feels like the hundredth time recently, holding me against his chest as he easily moves through the trees and brush. Although he said it “wasn’t far,” he walks for at least six or seven minutes. His outdoor competence is sexy, particularly because I couldn’t navigate my way out of a paper bag, and I’m calmed by the steady but rapid beating of his heart. By his clean scent, engulfing me and promising that we’re in this together.
We reach a hidden break in the trees, and sure enough, there’s a little wooden bench, green with age. There are initials carved all over it—Minnie loves Mickey; R and S, in a heart; Maya hearts Tom. Danny lowers me down before sitting next to me, his thigh pressed to mine, and even though I’m keyed up and worried, I can’t deny I’m aware of every place where we’re touching, as if the skin has become a thousand times more sensitive—capable of feeling him between multiple layers of fabric. There’s a little opening in front of the bench, through which we can see the rolling blue mountains, and all around us the remaining leaves are a sea of colors.
“Whoa,” I say, leaning into his shoulder. He puts an arm around me, bringing me closer, then looks at me as if to ask if it’s all right. I respond by leaning in. “This is where you found my leaf? Suddenly, I feel less special.”
He angles his head to look at me—his lips dangerously close. “There are a lot of leaves out here, sure. But there was only one perfect leaf. It took me half an hour to find it.”
