Page 51 of The Locksmith's Promise
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.
