“Do you still have Louisa?” she asked, her voice holding a hint of panic.
“Right here,” he said as calmly as he could.
She rested her chin on his shoulder, and he knew she didn’t intend to, but she breathed right into his ear, giving him shivers down his neck.
“I’m only letting you carry me because this is your fault,” she said. “And my heart is still racing thinking I lost Louisa.”
Shame cut through him like a hot knife. What if the boxes had hurt Eliana’s turtle? Or Eliana, when he’d accidentally knocked her into them.
Or even Cameron, when he’d been here several days ago. Cameron wasn’t always steady on his feet, and he might have been hurt too.
She tightened her grip around his neck, and her legs wound around his waist. He wouldnotthink about every part of her touching every part of him.
He wouldnotthink about how she smelled like a piña colada, or how silky her hair felt as it rubbed against the side of his neck and his cheek. Especially since he needed to concentrate on navigating this mess.
He took his time, and when he got to the couch, he gently set Eliana down. He sat beside her and met eyes with her turtle. Its nose nudged his thumb as if in greeting.
“Hello, Louisa,” he whispered.
Dang it. The first rule to not getting attached is to never touch it.
The second rule is to never say its name.
Eliana gave him a strange look he couldn’t interpret.
“She seems fine.” Nothing to see here. He handed Louisa—the turtle, he meant to say THE TURTLE—back to Eliana who held it close.
“Thank you,” she said. He hopped up to get them each a cold water bottle. When he brought them back, she had her purse open and was peering at herself in a tiny mirror.
“Are you okay? Did your head get hit?”
“No.” Her cheeks were pink. “I just realized I look a mess.”
He lowered his eyebrows and took her in from head to foot. She looked entirely put together, as always. No one would know she’d nearly been avalanched just moments ago. “No, you don’t. Are you sure you’re okay?”
She pulled her hair into a low bun and set the mirror down. “We’re fine. Aren’t we Louisa?” She looked over her shoulder into the dining hall. “But that room is not.”
He didn’t want to follow her gaze, so he looked at the side of her face instead. Her profile was made up of delicate lines and creamy skin. Had he noticed before now how crushingly beautiful she was?
Yes, of course he had. But he hadn’t taken the time to really look. He didn’t know how to talk to a woman like her, much less live with her.
She turned toward him, and he averted his gaze before she could catch him watching her.
“What are we going to do about this?” she asked. Did she mean the piles of boxes or the stalemate they were in over them?
“It’s not safe,” he said. “I’m going to have to go through them.” It felt like declaring he was attempting to climb Everest. This task felt nearly as impossible. He cleared his throat. He had to ask, but it took humbling himself to the very depths of his soul. “Are you still willing to help?”
She stared at him carefully, and he braced himself for her to say no or storm off or give him a sarcastic remark about how he’d already turned her help down.
Instead, she placed her hand on his, as if she had an inkling of how hard it had been for him to ask, and simply said, “Yes.”
Chapter 12
“Preserve your memories, keep them well, what you forget you can never retell.” —Louisa May Alcott
Elianastretchedacrossherair mattress as morning light flitted through the slats of the blinds. She lengthened every limb as far as she could and yawned. Her back ached from hitting the boxes last night, but she wasn’t about to tell Asher that, not when he felt so guilty about knocking into her.
Louisa slept in her walking container—which would be her temporary habitat until Eliana could buy her a new one. Eliana had fallen asleep staring at Louisa, grateful that she was okay.
