Page 24 of The Bright Side of Brooding
I’d become aware of how much larger I was than most women as early as high school, but since then, I’d packed on forty pounds of muscle and even grew another inch in my first few years in the Army. I never wanted to be a source of physical intimidation and often found that, whether I liked it or not, my face, my body, my general demeanor, intimidated. There were times when that became particularly loathsome, and in this moment, I needed to be sure she felt no pressure of any kind from me. It was one thing to nudge her on letting me help clean up. Beyond that, there couldn’t be anything.
Shrugging into my coat, I pushed my arms through the sleeves, ignoring the irritating sensation of rolled cuffs inside. I’d be home in minutes and could be back in sweatpants and a T-shirt seconds after that.
“Here,” she said, one small hand pressed against my right pec over the jacket, and the other reaching up and flipping the lapel of the coat out from where it’d turned under.
That first press of her hand made my breath catch, all systems stalled, then my pulse sprinted. She’d fixed the lapel but hadn’t moved—just stayed there, one hand resting against me, one gripping the jacket.
My chest rose and fell under her touch. Her blue eyes looked darker in the dim light of the entryway, and she had little wisps of hair springing out around her face ever since she’d started cleaning. The connection between us, the proximity, it all expanded and filled the space with thick anticipation.
A few persistent strands brushed her cheek, and before I knew what was happening, I reached up and tucked them behind her ear. My gaze followed the progress of my hand behind the delicate arch of her ear, noting how her long, makeup-darkened lashes fluttered when I did. The pad of my index finger trailed down her neck to her shoulder, where I pulled away.
My voice came out low and quiet when I leaned in and spoke into the miraculous curves of her ear. “Thank you for dinner.”
“Thank you for coming.”
Hers, a whisper.
* * *
Sleep eluded me for much of the night. I slept a few hours after writing late. In the morning, after a quick breakfast and cleanup behind me, I layered warm clothes and pushed out into the cold. I could use the shoveling to replace a jog.
