Page 28 of Only in Your Dreams
His eyes roll so hard I’m sure he’s seeing stars. “You always wearboots,” he clarifies. “Did you even break them in?”
“Yes.”
No.
He watches me, pale eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Liar.”
I let out an aggrieved sigh. “Fine. No, I didn’t. But I’ll be fine.”
“I’m not carrying you.”
“Did I ask you to?” I challenge, quirking both brows.
He gives me an equally challenging look. “Not yet.”
This feels good. Normal. Unlike whatever has been going on between us for the last few weeks. I’ve been twisted up, unsure about where we stand, unsure of how I feel about him. But this is right. This is us in our usual roles, pushing each other’s buttons.
“You carry people for a living,” I shoot back, the anxious knot that’s been growing inside me since we started this whole charade finally starting to unravel.
He moves closer, invading my space. I always forget how big he is until he’s this close. He’s much larger than Gus, who is my height and lean. Larger, even, than Holden, who is tall and built from all his contractor work. Grey is giant because of genes and working out for a living. But even if he were to quit firefighting, he’d stay overwhelming.
“That’s not even remotely true,” he says, pulling me from my thoughts, forcing my attention from the breadth of his shoulders back up to his intriguing pale blue eyes. I can never tell what they remind me of. Ice on the lake in winter. The first clear day in spring. Giant, blooming blue hydrangeas. But even those comparisons don’t do them justice.
Nowthisis less familiar, but it’s infinitely more heady.
“But you’d carry me if I needed you to, right?” I’m flirting, I think. His body language changes, a tensing of his muscles that I see and want to feel. Pale eyes growing darker. Chest expanding like he’s taken a full breath and hasn’t let it go.
Finally, just when I think he’s not going to respond, he says, “Sure, sweetheart.”
It’s midmorning, but the fairgrounds are already packed as we follow directions to park the truck in a grassy lot. Every night, there’s a different show at the grandstand, rodeo night and monster truck night being the most popular. So while it’s going to get more crowded as the day goes on, there are already hundreds, if not thousands, of people here, roaming around the fair.
By the time we make it through the gates, I already know wearing the new boots was a mistake. But I’m determined not to let Grey know. He was normal on the ride over, but my heart is still beating at an irregular rhythm. He’s a flirt, but I’m not, and I don’t know what to make of the interaction in my shop, what he meant by it. WhatImeant by it. I can still hear the scrape of his voice as he called me sweetheart, like nails running down my spine. It makes me shiver.
Grey looks over at me, confused. “There’s no way you’re cold.”
I shake my head. “Not at all.”
The fairgrounds are steaming. It’s an unusually hot day, but with the number of people and animals here, I can already feel sweat beading on my skin.
“Are we meeting Holden and Wren?” he asks, leaning close to my ear so I can hear him over the noise of conversations all around us.
I nod and point at the big red barn in the center of the fairgrounds, where the 4-H kids show their various arts and crafts. Last year, June decided she wanted to take up needlepoint, so she and Wren dove in headfirst. This year, she’s competing with a landscape she stitched of some overlook she, Holden, and Wren like to go to. It’s going to hang in the new baby’s nursery, she told me when we had a girls’ night last week. I’ve never seen anyone so excited to have a sibling.
“Arts and crafts barn,” I tell him, and he starts pushing through the crowds of people. I have to lengthen my strides, buteven with the effort, I can hardly keep up with him. People part for him, but they don’t seem to see me. When he looks back, he finds me several paces behind him.
He stops right in the middle of the dirt path, blocking the line for a funnel cake stand. I finally reach him, and he holds out his hand, palm down, waiting to envelop mine. I hesitate for only a moment before slipping my hand into his. I’ve held his hand before, I know I have. Although I can’t pinpoint an exact time. I know I won’t forget this time, though. It feels different. For starters, his fingers link through mine, like he would hold the hand of a woman he’s seeing. And I guess he is.
His hand is so much larger than mine, and he’s stronger, obviously. So when he pulls me closer to him as we wind through the crowds of people, I can’t resist. I don’t think I’m trying.
When we get to the barn, I expect him to let go. It’s much less crowded here. But he doesn’t, and I don’t either. And then we’re just holding hands for the feel of it. Or the look of it. I’m not sure anymore.
We find Holden, Wren, June, and Mom at a display near the back with the other young elementary projects. June’s is easily the best, and that’s not just the proud aunt in me. I guess June inherited her artistic talent from her mother, Mia, although it’s Wren who’s cultivating it.
Wren’s eyes catch on mine, toggling back and forth between our joined hands. She looks ecstatic, but I only shrug. I don’t know what this means any better than she does.
Twenty minutes later, we’re making our way back out of the barn and into the hordes of people once more, in search of fried food and cool drinks. We spend the morning rotating between food lines and ride lines. June wants to ride everything and eat everything in sight, and I’m no different. Wren avoids most of it, since she’s been dealing with morning sickness, but somehow, she stays peppy. Holden is grumpy, but in his signature way. Hetries to keep June from eating too much junk food, but it’s no use.
And through it all, Grey keeps hold of my hand. Even when they grow clammy and sticky from powdered sugar and hand sanitizer that smells like a distillery. Our bodies are damp with sweat. Everywhere we touch is slick. I’m sure, physically, it would be more comfortable to let go, but neither of us does.
