Maybe.

Did I want to hear it?

Maybe I needed to.

“Okay.”

He breathed out a sigh of relief he dipped his head to meet my eyes. “Thank you.”

On the way back, conversation came easy. Now that we’d established some boundaries, I felt free to relax in his presence.

Enjoy him, even.

And if I was the least bit disappointed in his easy acquiescence, it was easily buried.

As we exited the trail and spilled out onto the street, I tilted my head to the side. This new but old camaraderie was a welcome change from the anxiety that had dogged us since that first afternoon at Miller’s.

“What are you doing for the rest of the day?”

He sucked in a breath. “It’s moving day.”

My brows furrowed. “And that makes you nervous?”

Wincing a little, he admitted, “I’m moving in three doors down from you and Corwin.”

“Oh!” I exclaimed. That was a little too close for comfort. How could I keep him at arm’s length if he was forever under my feet?

Not like there was much choice in Moose Lake.

“It’s not like you have a lot of options,” I answered.

He quirked a brow. “You want to help me move in?”

Shifting uneasily from one foot to the other, remembering the feel of his hands in my hair, I gave in to the temptation to spend more time with him. “Yeah, I can help. I’d like that.”

He brightened and grinned at me. “It won’t take long.”

I rolled my eyes. “That’s what they all say.”

Forty-five minutes later, having laughed more than helped while Baxter put his bedframe together, we unearthed his new mattress from its plastic prison and set it on the frame.

I tilted my head to the side.

Beside me, his silence spoke volumes.

“I hope it gets bigger than that,” I muttered, then froze.

He snorted.

Giggles bubbled up in my tummy and boiled over. I slapped a hand over my mouth.

He chuckled and threw his arm around me. “You’re such a child.”

“Oh, yeah?” I challenged, my body coming alive under his touch. “What child would make a joke like that?”

“Fine,” he acquiesced. “You’re a twelve-year-old boy.”

My smile faltered.