Page 83 of Hopeless
Instead …
He offers a wordless thank you.
His thickly corded arm extends into the space between us, and my eyes need a minute to adjust to what I’m seeing in the dim light.
“Is that … ”
I reach out, fingers brushing against the matted, almost woolly texture of my stuffed horse’s coat.
“I stitched it.”
I let go of the doorframe and take the toy in both hands. My fingertips run over the line of perfect stitches down her side. “You stitchedher.”
He scrubs at his beard. “Right. Her. Well … she’s Franken-pony now.”
Tears well in my eyes and I blink rapidly to push them away, not risking a glance up at Beau. I’ll sob if I do.
“I found her in a park, forgotten on a bench.” I trace the thread lines again and laugh dryly. “I know now I probably stole some other kid’s toy. But, man, in that moment? God. It felt like the universe gifted me something that was meant to be just mine. I didn’t get Barbies or toys, but I had Princess Peach.”
“Princess Peach?”
I sniff. “Yeah. That changed into just Peaches somewhere along the way. But I’m not going to lie and say I didn’t feel like a princess walking around with this stuffy for a long time.” I smile at the little beige horse. “I thought she’d be in a landfill somewhere by now.”
“Had to dig through three bags of garbage to find her.”
The bridge of my nose stings.
“And then go get a mending kit from Willa.”
“Is that why you went to Cade’s?” I finally force myself to glance up at him, his rugged features appearing darker in the night.
He shrugs. “Yeah. Willa has all sorts of craft shit. Including extra stuffing. She’s gone full Martha Stewart mom.”
I smile sadly.What must that be like?Having a mom who does crafts with you?
“Thank you,” I whisper, stroking the fuzzy, pilled mane. Touching the threadbare faux leather that covers her hooves. “Thank you so much.”
I launch myself at him, hugging him almost violently. My body flying toward his like a magnet that can’t resist the pull. My arms clamp around his torso, Peaches pressed to his back, as a surprised whoosh of his breath breezes over the top of my head. I feel like I’ve squeezed the air out of his lungs. And yet I continue clinging to him, and after a few short beats, his arms wrap around me, and he hugs me back.
I sigh. I melt against him. The protective shell around my heart softens. I don’t think anyone has ever done something so thoughtful for me.
“You’re welcome.” His voice is gritty. It scrapes across my skin, down the side of my neck, and summons gooseflesh over my forearms.
Then he steps back, hands on my biceps. Holding me at a distance when I wish he’d go on touching me.
“Let’s go swimming,” I say brightly. Trying to cover the emotion, the confusion in my voice. Unable to continue facing him, I turn to place Peaches on my bed.
But his voice stops me.
“Nah, Bailey. Get some sleep.”
When I swing back around, he’s propped his hand against the top of the doorframe. Like it’s holding him back. The same way it did me. Until he gave me the sweetest gift and knocked away all my restraint in one fell swoop.
“But I thought you liked swimming with me?”
The way his arm is slung above his head has his bicep bulging and his shoulder tugging at the fabric of his T-shirt. I remember the way he clamped me against him with that exact arm. The way I felt wrapped up safe in him.
“I do.”
