I run a hand through my hair. “I’m not good at this.”
“At what?”
“Words. Feelings.” I gesture vaguely between us. “Whatever this is.”
“I’ve heard that already.” She crosses her arms, waiting. Not making it easier for me.
I swallow embarrassment before speaking. “When that guy was talking to you today?—”
“Nick,” she suggests helpfully.
“Right. Nick.” The name tastes bitter. “When he was flirting with you, I wanted to drag him out by his collar and throw him out on the street.”
She raises an eyebrow. “That’s… concerning.”
“I know. I wouldn’t have.” I take a deep breath. “The point is, I didn’t like it. I didn’t like how it felt.”
“Felt like jealousy?” Anotherhelpfulword. A quirked corner of her lips indicates that she might be enjoying my misery.
“Maybe.” I pace a few steps, then stop. “I don’t get jealous. I don’t feel things like that.”
She sighs, pulling her cardigan together. “Everyone feels things, Jericho.”
I look at her then, really look at her. Standing there in her pajamas, hair wild, eyes steady on mine. Not backing down an inch. She doesn’t look like someone who runs away from things. She doesn’t look like a coward scared of an emotional confrontation.
“I don’t feel them much,” I say quietly. “At least, not before you.”
Something shifts in her expression. Softens.
“I fix things,” I continue. “I make sure your driveway isclear. I repair your pipes. That’s what I know how to do. That’s how I show—” I swallow hard. “That’s how I show I care.”
She takes a step closer. “I know.”
“You do?”
“Of course I do.” Her voice is gentle. “I’ve known since the first time you shoveled my driveway while we were fighting.”
“We were fighting?” Teasing seems natural; it’s what we used to do before everything became complicated.
“Fine,” she laughs. “I was mad at you. I had a good reason though.” The memory of another woman’s lips on me makes me nearly sick.
My hand shoots forward but pauses before reaching her face. When she doesn’t flinch or move away, I gently place my palm on her cheek. “I didn’t kiss her.” Her lips form a thin line, indicating that she’d rather not revisit that evening, but we must. She needs to know what really happened. “She came at me. I know how it sounds, but she did. I pushed her away, but you had already pulled the curtains closed.”
Her white teeth peek out as she pulls her lower lip between them. “Then why didn’t you come out that evening? I was waiting for you.”
“You were?” I ask, relieved.
She nods shyly.
Dropping my hand from her face and shoving it into my hair, I sigh. “I fell asleep and woke up when she knocked on the door.”
“Really?” Her tone is full of hope and makes me feel ten feet tall.
“Yes. God, Nora.” I tug on my hair. “I can’t even think about touching someone else, let alone kissing. You don’t have to worry about that.”
“Is that why you are so focused on poor Nick?” Her voiceturns into a whisper. Like she scared even herself with this question. Because she sure as fuck scared me.
I exhale slowly. “Maybe. Probably. Yes.” My sigh is heavy. “I can’t do what guys like him can. I can’t talk sweetly. All I can do is, well, do something. For you.” I shove my hand into my hair in frustration. “And while I do that, some other asshole can sweettalk you into going out with him.”
