Page 66 of Pictures in Blue
“Why not go for it? What is there to lose?”
I let her words seep in and consider them. I’ve been so worried this whole time about losing something. But is there really anything for me to lose?
You’ll fall for him,the voice inside me says.
If I let myself go there with Hudson, Iwillfall for him and in the end I won’t be good enough and I’ll be the one who gets hurt. Again. I’ve never been good enough, so what does it matter? And I am not going to let myself travel down that road. I won’t let myself be shattered again.
I roll my eyes at Charlotte. “Okay, let’s change the subject.”
“Alright, fine,” she agrees. “What does he do for a living? Is he an actual lumberjack?”
I sigh, “That’s not changing the subject.”
“Hey, it’s either that, or you can tell me how good his ass looks in a pair of blue jeans.”
“Charlotte, I am not discussing how good Hudson’s ass looks in his jeans.”
“Hah!” she exclaims. “So you’ve been looking at his ass?”
“Ohmygod,” I ignore her and press on. “He isn’t a lumberjack, but he works with wood.”
“Oh, I bet he does,” she says in a suggestive tone.
I palm my face, embarrassed at the words that just left my mouth. “No, that’s not what I meant and you know it! I do not want to talk about his masturbation habits. Now, shut up and talk about something else. How is work?”
Thankfully, the rest of the conversation revolves around work and the fact that Charlotte is over dealing with James and his bullshit. I can relate way more than I want to.
When we end the FaceTime, I listen for the sound of the shower, but find it quiet. I grab my camera from the countertop and start scrolling through the photos I’ve taken so far to get an idea of where else in town I can visit in the next few days. My favorites are from Fran’s. There’s something about capturing the cozy moment of a reader, snuggled up on one of the store’s couches, a book open in their lap with a fresh cup of coffee on the table next to them. A warm hug in a picture. I make a mental note to get a print of this one to frame it when I get home.
I hear Hudson walking down the stairs, creaks filling the air, giving the cabin an even more homier feel. I turn and thank whatever entity responsible that Hudson is fully dressed. But he’s dressed in gray sweatpants. Gray fucking sweatpants. Could he have put onanythingelse? Literally anything else would have been better than grayfuckingsweatpants. I groan internally and go back to the couch, calling Judy to come over. I am not above using a dog as a shield. I’m curled into the furthest corner of the sectional, legs stretched out in front of me on the connected ottoman, Judy’s body snuggled up against mine. Hudson would have to physically remove Judy from my side to get next to me and with one glance at her, I don’t think she would make it easy.
I make a grab for the remote and start scrolling through the selections while Hudson busies himself in the kitchen. The theme song of theGreat British Bake Offfills the room as Hudson sets a tray of snacks down on the coffee table. He’d give Lorelai Gilmore a run for her money with how much food he has set out. A wooden tray is filled with a variety of meats and cheeses, crackers, a few fruits, assorted nuts, a bowl of popcorn, and a small bowl of chocolate.
I look up at him, questioning.
“I figured since we didn’t stay after the meeting that you’d be hungry,” he says. “And what’s a movie night without snacks?”
My heart thaws further and my eyes follow him as he settles on the couch a foot away from Judy.
“You’ll have to crawl out of your corner to reach it though,” he says with a sly smile, knowing the coffee table is completely out of my reach unless I sit up and scoot closer to him. I roll my eyes and sigh and, not so reluctantly, move closer to him on the couch. Closer, but still a few inches away from him. Not touching.
He grabs a cracker and stacks it with meat and cheese before popping it into his mouth. I watch him chew and am startled when his voice reaches my ears.
“You’re staring again, Sunshine,” he says, eyes never leaving the screen.
I say nothing and scoop a handful of popcorn, sneaking a piece or two—really, three—to Judy before turning my eyes to the screen.
“I saw that.” Apparently, he not only has hearing that could rival a bat, but he sees everything too.
“Sorry, can’t resist when she’s giving me puppy dog eyes.”
“I never get that saying.”
“What do you mean?”
“When people say a dog gives you puppy dog eyes. They’re all puppy dog eyes. All puppies have eyes, therefore, puppy dog eyes aren’t something they give, they’re just,” he motions his hands in the air, pointing to where Patch and Hermes are still cuddled in front of the fireplace. “There,” he finishes.
“But dogs can definitely give you sad eyes if they want something. They beg with their facial expressions.”
