Page 61 of Somewhere Along The Line
Damn it.I spent the last week pulling away so I wouldn’t hurt her and here she is, hurt regardless.
“Gotcha. I hope it’s not a problem that I’m here?” Piper’s voice is thready and her face flushed, like she’s one second away from running back to the truck to hide.
I want to scoop her up and steal her away to my childhood bedroom, to tell her—and show her—hownot a problemthis is.
But I don’t.
Because even though the image of her standing in my driveway makes me picture an entire life with her, and even though my heart is practically reaching out of my chest to grasp any future she’ll give me, I can’t do it. Not to her.
“I’m glad you came.”
I summon a tentative smile and pull her in for a hug. If she’s here, she’s here. Might as well make her feel okay about it. I can handle a hug.
Wrong.
Piper’s body folds into mine like every part of her was meant for every part of me. She’s warmth and comfort and desire, familiar and unexpected. Her hair brushes against my jaw, her hands climb up my back, and my body floods with heat.
It’s a mistake, letting myself touch her, but I can’t let go.
“Well, what. do. we. have. here?” Dad’s words match his footsteps as he plods in our direction, a distinct staccato as he emphasizes each syllable.
Startled, Piper pulls away, though I keep a hand loosely at her waist as we turn toward the voice. I take a deep breath in and give a noisy exhale as Dad looks us up and down, lingering on the point of contact between us.
Piper beats me to the punch in responding. “Hi, you must be Mr. Newhouse!” Her face lights up, a smile inching up so high on her cheeks it creates crinkles at the corners of her eyes.
She turns anyone into a friend with that face.
“I’m Piper Paulson, Program Director at Hope First. We are so thankful for your donation today; it’s going to change the lives of a few women we serve. Thank you for thinking of us!”
I interject before Dad can ask questions. “Dad, this is Piper. The woman I was telling you about, the one I met on the train.” A flush of pink creeps up her neck hearing I’ve talked about her with my dad.
“Ah, Piper! What a lovely surprise.” He sticks out a hand and she grabs it eagerly, giving it a firm shake. His other hand comes on top of hers and he keeps it there as he talks. “Jamie didn’t tell me you worked at Hope First. It’s wonderful to meet you.”
“WellJamiehere…” Piper glances over with a hint of evil in her eyes, relishing the fact that she knows this new nickname, “... isn’t the best at communicating.”
Her words sock me in the gut. She’s not wrong to say them, not after I went radio silent this week.
“... But we’ll forgive him for that.” She shoots me a wink, and the tension winding through my chest relaxes some.
“Sounds about right!” Dad says it with a laugh and Piper joins in as they drop their hands. They are like old pals, these two, sharing this chuckle together. I’m the third party at this moment.
Piper slides out of my grip to swing the tote bag from her shoulder. “Hope it’s okay that I brought you both something.” Her sweet smile deepens further as she pokes around in her bag. My nerves stand at attention because I know what she’s looking for.
“Aren’t we the ones who are giving things to you today?” I joke, trying to slow the rising tide of anxiety that’s crawling up my throat. My palms are getting sweaty. Neither she nor Dad laugh.
Her hand emerges from the tote with two bags, each tied with a ribbon at the top instead of the usual zipper seal. She put extra thought and care into this gift. Dad’s eyes go wide as he sees them before quickly getting misty.
“Are these…” He glances between Piper, the bags, and my expression. “Are these sausage balls?”
“Yep!” Piper nods, looking to me for reassurance I can’t give her. My gaze is trained on Dad whom she turns to next.
“James mentioned your wife used to make them. I figured today might be a hard day for you, donating things she likely picked out for your home. It’s not much, but I hoped these might make it a little bit easier. James’s mom sounded like an absolutely incredible woman.”
Piper shifts on her feet with a small shiver, and while it may be from the October chill, it’s likely because I’m gaping. The expression on her face asks whether this was a good idea. I’m not sure if she means the sausage balls or coming here in the first place.
Dad walks slowly toward her without a word and wraps her in the tightest hug I’ve ever seen. She tucks her head in the nook of his shoulder, a contrast to where she falls against my chest. She meets my eyes, and we linger there as Dad lingers in the hug, surrounded by a silence so full it may collapse under the weight of everything unsaid.
The movers return with the dining table, one of them walking backward until they come across the embrace and prompt its end. Piper and Dad scurry apart to make room as the men walk the table up the ramp of the truck to load it. It’s the table I used to sit at each morning eating mom’s sausage balls and talking about the day’s high school drama—often about a girl and my inability to believe I’m a person worth having.
