Page 66 of Here & There

My stomach flips hard. So much for being past the awkwardness.

I lean forward, picking my favorite fire-poking stick off the ground and sticking it into the fire. The logs shift, thudding apart in a burst of sparks.

“I’ve never had much luck with girlfriends,” I say finally.

Shelby laughs. “Really? I find that hard to believe.”

“I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic.”

“I’m serious.” I can feel her eyes at my back. “You have to know you’re handsome.”

Heat flares in my chest. I was at one time, maybe. I work hard to obscure myself as much as possible these days. Long hair. Beard. Wool cap in the cool weather, ball cap when it’s warm.

When I was younger, all it did was make my life shit.

“You shouldn’t say things like that to me,” I say, so low I’m not sure she’s going to hear it, which is good.

She sighs. “Why not? It’s just facts.”

“It’s an opinion.”

“Yeah. My opinion.”

Since she can’t see my face, I allow myself a smile, because somehow Shelby thinking I’m handsome doesn’t feel like it does with all those other women, the ones who come in and try to pry open a closed door. These strangers who don’t know me for shit. But Shelby thinking I’m handsome? She doesn’t want anything from me. She sees me as I am, and she doesn’t see the ugliness I feel.

“This whiskey’s really good,” she murmurs. I glance back. She’s draining her second glass. When she’s done, she leans back against the chair, her eyes closed, a soft smile on her face. She’s tipsy. I should encourage her to go to bed.

But I don’t want to leave. I want to stay like this, next to her. Feeling like this before everything has to go back to normal.

I rub my thumb along the bark of the stick in my hand, thinking about how fucking magic it feels every time she touches me. Both ways. The kind of touch that makes my heart clench. The soft, heated touch that makes my lower half swell.

Fuck, I think I’m touch starved. I read about that in a pamphlet when I was waiting for Dad to come out of his room the other day at the care home.Seniors are significantly more likely to experience touch deprivation due to a lack of physical contact, which can trigger feelings of loneliness, isolation, and depression.I made sure to pat his shoulder and give him an extra few hugs, but he only looked at me like I was losing it.

Am I calling myself a senior citizen?

I clear my throat, reaching back for my scotch. It dulls my runaway thoughts. It keeps me from wanting to ask her to put her hand on me again.

But it does that other bad thing. It makes me want to ask questions I shouldn’t ask.

“Shelby?” I ask after another sip, ignoring that voice quieted by the drink.

“Yeah?”

“Why are you here?”

She frowns, though her eyes stay closed. “Whattya mean?”

She’s tipsy. Like I knew she would be. It’s the only reason I’m daring to ask.

“I mean why did you leave your life in Vancouver to be here?”

“I had a mental breakdown.” She giggles.

When I look back at her, her eyes are open but heavy-lidded. At my serious expression, she sits up, her smile dropping. “It’s true. I’m missing something fundamental. I think it’s my grandmother.”

At my confused frown, she says, “She’s alive. My mom never told me. You remember the necklace I lost?”

I remember. “Yeah.”

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