Page 31 of Holiday Love
“Your bedspread is purple. It’s the only color in your room. Everything else is white. Plus there’s your purple robe. The one you wore all day.”
I raise my eyebrows. “How astute of you, Mr. Wright.”
Teddy straightens an imaginary tie, grinning. “Why, thank you, Dr. Chu. I try.”
We both laugh at that, and something in my chest loosens.
Maybe it won’t be so bad having him here.
Chapter sixteen
Teddy
“Maybe,” I continue, “Lindsey was going to say, ‘I heard you could use a friend, and I’d like to be that person for you.’”
Helen rolls her eyes. “Yeah, right.” She’s back in her white tank top and biker shorts, surrounded by her fuzzy purple robe, having changed out of her leotard as soon as she got home.
“Why not?” I study her like she’s a puzzle. One that I urgently need to solve. “You’re smart. Kind.”
She snorts. “Not with this face.”
I blink. “What?”
“RBF,” Helen explains, making a vague circling gesture toward her face. “Resting bitch face. I always look annoyed, even when I’m not. It’s a problem.”
“You do not have RBF,” I sputter.
“Yeah, I do. Everyone says so.” There’s a surety in her tone that tells me I won’t be talking her out of it anytime soon.
“Who?” I throw my hands up, resisting the urge to wrap them around the throat of whoever planted that thought in her head. “Who says that?”
“My college roommate, Ginny.” She nods like it’s a fact.
“And? Who else?”
Her eyes shift away, and that tells me all I need to know.
“See? One person.” I lean in just enough that she can’t avoid my gaze. “You don’t need to fix your face. It’s great the way it is.” My voice comes out low and certain, because I’m telling her something that’s been obvious to me since the second we met. “I like looking at it.”
Helen blinks, caught off-guard. “Oh.” She tucks a piece of hair behind her ear, her eyes looking anywhere but at me. “That’s…nice of you to say.” Her voice has gone softer, like she’s not sure what to do with the compliment, but a faint flush creeps into her cheeks.
It’s nothing dramatic, just a small rush of pink, but it hits me harder than it should. I want to keep her looking like that, caught somewhere between shy and pleased, just to see if I can.
Her gaze dips, and she stirs her spoon through the bottom of the container like she’s mining for treasure.
“Well,” she says, eyes still on her ice cream, “even if it’s not my face, I had no idea what to say to Lindsey. I’m not good at that, you know, talking to people.”
Classic subject change. I let her pivot, even though part of me wants to drag her right back to the compliment, make sure she really heard me, so she never doubts herself again. Instead, I shake my head, certain I’ve misheard.
“You’re talking to me right now.”
“You don’t count.”
“Gee,” I say, clutching my chest in mock injury, “way to make a guy feel special.”
“No! No, I didn’t mean it like that. You’re just…easy. Like I don’t have to think so hard around you. I’m sure you’ve been told that before.”
I have, plenty of times, but hearing it from Helen feels different. If I tell her that, she’ll overthink it, so I keep my mouth shut.
