Page 26 of Spring Rains

I whirled to face him, feeling guilty. I was used to his questions and his knack for catching me off guard, but I played innocent for as long as it lasted.

“And what?”

“Dad,” Fox began with a sigh, then smiled, “did you kiss Mr. Sheridan, or Chris, or whatever I have to call him at home?”

He leaned against the kitchen counter, staring up at me with an expression that was half-teasing, half-serious.

I paused, as I decided how to respond. I knew that whatever my answer, it wouldn’t faze him. He was just being Fox—inquisitive, and cheeky. He didn't show the same concern as last night when he had been weirded out by me havingcoffeewith one of his teachers.

“No, we didn’t kiss,” I said, then… because I never lied to Fox, “I wanted to, though.”

He considered me for a moment, then rolled his eyes. “Dad, he likes you, and you like him, kissing comes next.”

“I thought?—”

“I talked to Clarke and Ainsley, and they reckon it’s cool even if you’re getting too old to date.”

I didn’t know what to address first. “You spoke to your friends about me and your teacher?”

“No, I said I was asking for a friend; they kind of guessed it was you and Mr. Sheridan.”

“Fox!”

“They won’t say anything. Anyway, kiss him already because I like him. Also, can I have a brownie?”

The change of subject was sudden, but something had eased in me as he spoke. I needed a friend, but maybe I needed kissing more.

In the quiet of the evening, after Fox was in bed, all brownied-up and homework done, my mind wandered as I stared out of the window at the swirling snow. There was a streetlamp a few storefronts down, and the falling flakes danced in front of my eyes, mesmerizing in the glow. All my thoughts were just as messy, Chris, with his easy smile and warm presence, could be more than just a friend.

On one hand, there was the possibility of something beautiful with Chris, a chance at happiness that was hard to ignore, and for me to show Fox what a normal relationship was like. On the other, the potential awkwardness and challenges of a small-town romance gone sour, and Fox being hurt again.

In the end, I knew I had to take my time with this decision. It wasn’t just about me; it was about Chris, Fox, and the community we were all a part of. I needed to think this through, considering all the possibilities and consequences before taking any step forward. For now, there could be no kissing.

Nope.

A clatter from the window pulled me from my thoughts and the concept of the worsening storm made me shiver, until there was another clatter. I crossed to the window, peering up at the sky, looking for hailstones, or a bird, or whatever was causing the noise.Please don’t let the roof be falling in.Another clatter-splat, and it happened right on the glass, and I stared out, spotting a figure bundled up like a Michelin man standing on the sidewalk below.

Chris?

I pushed open the window, frigid wind stealing my breath.

“What are you doing?” I kind of asked/shouted.

He gestured to the diner’s front door. Wrapping my huge misshapen mustard-colored jacket around me, I hurried downstairs, going back for keys, and letting Chris in from the cold. There was no sign of his chair—he was on crutches—and with light flooding the space, I could see the warmth in his smile. He headed for the back of the diner and gestured for me to follow as I locked up. When I reached him, a ton of questions on the tip of my tongue, he was in my space, angling himself to lean on a bench seat and tug me to him.

“You’re cold!” I whimpered as all of his cold bits touched my warmth.

“Well, itissnowing.”

“I know,” I added for no reason at all.

“I forgot something,” he murmured and tugged me even closer, then he took off his gloves and rubbed his hands a little before cradling my face. “Can I kiss you?”

I could see a snowflake on his lashes, watched it melt, and saw his eyes widen a fraction, and all of my careful and considered reasons I needed to go slow vanished. “Please.”

And then, his lips were on mine, and I didn’t hesitate to fall headlong into the kiss. I laced my fingers behind his back, which was awkward given he was as padded as a bear in his coat, then stepped into his hold, and when his tongue pressed my lips, I opened up to the best kiss of my entire freaking life. We must have stood there for ten minutes, tasting, our tongues tangling, our bodies pressed close, but it was Chris who pulled back. I hoped he hadn’t seen the sudden fear in my expression when reality hit me about what I’d done.

“It’s not just you,” he murmured, then shifted his weight.

---