Page 26 of Somewhere Along The Line
“If you want,” I continue, “I can meet you at your place at seven and we can take the F Line to the main terminal. It should be a short walk from there.”
Piper nods and the jostling of her knee draws my attention. The discussion of giving these statements is enough to make her nervous, to set her heart pounding.
Without thinking, I let my hand find hers, and while I don’t know what I’m doing, being held eased her anxiety on the train. She wraps her fingers around mine, small and soft and cold, and scooches a bit closer on the bench. My brain tries to put up caution tape, but my heart bulldozes through it, flopping wildly in my chest as I graze my thumb over hers.
“You’re gonna do great, Pipes.” She smiles softly, joining the grin with the eye roll I was missing earlier. “We’ll go in, describe what happened, and we’ll leave. I’ll be there the whole time and I can cover for you if you get tripped up. Easy peasy.”
I can tell she does not think this will beeasy peasy,but she seems to relax a bit at the idea that it could be. She makes to stand and I wait for her to withdraw her hand from my grip… but she doesn’t.
We continue our loop along the path, a heavy silence settling between us though it's not awkward. If silence could feel warm it would feel something like this.
Neither of us mentions that our hands are still intertwined and that it appears from the outside like this was the purposeful choice of two people wholikeeach other. Our hands swing as we walk, keeping us in step, and while I try to concentrate on the path, my mind is stuck on her fingers looped between mine.
It feels so casual, walking like this, but casual meaning ease, not lack of care. Strolling around the park tonight, being with Piper—I'm lighter, more agile than I’ve been in months. Is it from being with her? Or is this lightness what happens when I veer from my usual work-sleep-rinse-repeat?
It must be the latter.
That’s what I tell myself as we stroll hand-in-hand, the sky losing the sun. What feels so pleasant about this evening is the break from my normal, stressful routine, not the woman who’s keeping herself warm tucked to my side.
This is part of the process—we’re getting comfortable with each other before Monday’s song and dance—and it’s a good thing.
It doesn’t have to be a big deal.
Piper’s phone chimes in her pocket and she pulls her hand away to reach for it. “It’s Sami,” she mutters, as though she wishes it were someone else or no one at all. “She’s waiting for me at the restaurant over there.” She points across the street to a rooftop bar lit with string lights.
“We agreed to have dinner at seven and also that she would keep an eye out in case you brought me here to murder me.” Piper looks at me sheepishly, her face an apology at the need to be cautious. I hate that she needs to be.
“Then let’s get you to Sami.” My shrug tries to hide my disappointment at having to pass her off to someone who already gets so much of her time. We make our way to the bar with a purpose we previously lacked. We stop by the door, and I wave up to Sami who is hanging conspicuously over the railing, peering down to spy on us.
“I should probably keep my hands to myself,” I say, gesturing up to the balcony before sliding my palms into my jacket pockets.
“Probably should.” Piper smirks. “See you Monday, Mr. Newhouse!” She gives me a wave, the same one she always does, tight to her side.
“See you Monday, Ms. Paulson,” I grin, warmth blooming dangerously in my chest as I think about spending the morning with her.
She turns and the door closes behind her. Sami retreats, running to greet her friend before Piper makes it up the stairs.
Meandering back to the office, I duck in to take care of the tasks I abandoned earlier for this evening’s stroll. Plus, if I don’t, I’ll do nothing but think about Piper.
I need to at least try to keep my brain intact. This whole charade will end on Monday, most likely, when we leave the station. After that, we’ll go back to our usual exchanges on the train.
I can enjoy Monday for what it will be—a few hours pretending I exist in a different life—without letting my thoughts or feelings move beyond that. It’ll be a one-time indulgence, like a cheat day on a diet, before returning to business as usual.
That’s all it will be.
Monday arrives and withit my nerves. Ever since our evening in the park, the thought of seeing James makes my pulse climb. It’s not that I’m anxious about him, really—he’s clearly in control of himself—I’m worried about me, about how I felt holding his hand on Friday.
Something stirred in my chest when he wove his fingers through mine, and I’ve been trying to name it since. The bad news? It wasn’t the safe indifference I’m trying to maintain.
The front steps of the main house are cold under my legs while I wait for him to show up. I slide my hands over my skirt and tap my knees as I think, forcing myself into positive self-talk that would make Dr. Browne proud:
It’ll just be a few hours.
We can pretend to be married.
I can give the police my statement.
Hopefully we can make this field trip quick—go in, say the things, and get out. There is so much to do before the fundraising gala next week; I wouldn’t be able to extend the morning with James even if I wanted to. Which I don’t.
