Page 65 of Pictures in Blue
Once the movie reaches the sword fight scene between the Dread Pirate Roberts and Inigo Montoya, I feel Hudson’s fingers brush the skin behind my ear as he twirls a strand of hair around his finger. I look his way and I don’t know if he realizes what he’s doing or not, but I don’t think I want him to stop. The light touches feel good. More than good.
By the time the rodents of unusual size come up, his other hand is holding my good ankle firmly as his thumb traces the faintest of circles on my skin. I don’t know what he’s doing or what he’s expecting, but I find myself wanting to reciprocate his small touches. Currently, my right hand is buried in Judy’s fur, scratching and petting her. Something to keep my hands to myself. But he isn’t, so why should I? If I move my left hand, I might be able to touch his torso, but I’d have to maneuver myself closer to him and I can’t do that without being obnoxiously obvious. He’d see right through it.
Fuck it.I do it anyway and his body freezes as I tuck my side into his and settle my head on his shoulder, his hair brushing my cheek.
“What are you doing?” he whispers, still unmoving.
“I don’t know,” I whisper back, because I don’t. I don’t know what I’m doing here, I don’t know what I’m doing in this town and I don’t know what I’m doing with him. All I know is I don’t think I want it to end.
Finally, he settles his arm behind me, resting on the small of my back, an inch of skin exposed between the hem of my shirt and the top of my pants. An inch of skin that feels like miles with his fingers tracing slow lines back and forth. Back and forth.
We sit like this for the remainder of the movie, hands exploring, but never crossing a line we aren’t ready for. Our original agreement to stay away from each other is clearly out the window. So far out the window, it is soaring through the wildflowers outside, flitting toward the lake and diving in to sink into the deepest part of the water to hide among the seaweed.
When the movie ends, the spell that had settled over us is broken. Hudson untangles himself from me and stands to stretch.
“I’m going to go shower,” is all he says before heading to the stairs behind the fireplace, up to what I assume is his room. He didn’t show me the rest of the house, too busy worrying about my swollen ankle. I glance down and notice it’s looking significantly better than it did earlier. The swelling has gone down and the bruising is pretty mild.
I give Judy one last head scratch before standing to grab my things and I realize Hudson didn’t show me where the guest room is. I quickly change into clean clothes and slide my feet into my blue, sherpa-lined crocs to take the chill away from my toes. With nothing else to do, now is my chance to explore the books on his shelves. Stacks of small books are scattered among the shelves along with a few carvings here and there. One is placed snug against a plant in the corner while another sits carefully on top of a stack of what looks to be middle grade novels. I’m able to take my time observing the wooden figurines without Hudson’s gaze watching me. They are intricate. Detailed. More detailed than I’ve ever seen. How the burly man in the shower could carve such delicate designs is beyond me.
I imagine his rough, callused hands slowly carving, chipping away at the wood until it transforms into his vision beneath what was a plain piece of wood before. And then I imagine what other things those rough, callused hands could do.
Our almost kiss by the waterfall and the moment from the stairs is seared into my mind and I can still feel the ghost of his breath on my skin and the way my body reacted to his.
Water. I need water. My nerves are shot and being under the same roof as Hudson isn’t helping. I move across the room to the kitchen and search through a few cabinets before I find the glasses. I pour a cup of water, drain it in a few gulps and refill it. Leaning my elbows on the kitchen island, back to the stairs, I FaceTime Charlotte.
She answers on the first ring.
“Do you just wait by the phone for me to call or what?” I joke.
“Hah hah,” she laughs sarcastically. “I have a life outside of you, Ave. Believe it or not.”
“Oh, sorry, I thought your whole world revolved around me and my love life.” I level her with what I hope is an intimidating stare, but I know it doesn’t work, because she lets out a laugh.
“Pleaaaase,” she draws out. “You’d be lost without me playing matchmaker.”
“No, I don’t think I would. I have plenty of matchmakers here it seems.”
Her eyebrows raise at that. “Oh?”
I fill her in on everything that happened after our call ended during the meeting when I ran into Hudson.
“What do you mean you’re staying at his house?” she asks, the shriek in her voice fills the kitchen and I shush her.
“Be quiet,” I say. “Keep your voice down. He’s in the shower upstairs, but who knows what he can hear from up there.”
“From a whole floor above you? He can hear our conversation over the sound of a shower and through the floors? Impressive.”
“There could be vents that connect to his room, you don’t know.” I look above me searching for anything that could indicate Hudson’s ability to hear me from wherever he is upstairs.
“Sheesh, you’re paranoid.”
“I just don’t want him listening to us.”
“Why not?” she asks. “He’s hot. I’m about to go there myself… So what are you wearing?” she adds before a smile stretches across her features.
I look down at my plaid pajama pants, blue crocs and oversized sweatshirt.
“Nothing that says come and get it.”At least not tonight,the voice inside my head adds.
