“That I’m terrified to stop moving, of everything collapsing. When I think of taking time for myself, my mind goes to all the other things I could be doing to make my life better or the grocery budget that might be tighter, the bills that I’ll just barely be able to pay. I run my own business. I rely on myself and noone else.” With each word my needle moves faster. In and out. That’s all I need to focus on. In and out.
“Sounds lonely.”
“I’m always around people.” It’s a choice, so why do I feel myself growing defensive?
If I don’t rely on anyone else there’s no one to disappoint me.
I stab the needle through, but it slips to an odd angle and I catch my thumb. I hiss and lift my hand to find a small bead of crimson collecting on the pad of my finger. “Ouch.”
I don’t even see him get up, but a moment later, Liam is there, kneeling in front of me with a small plastic first aid kit cracked open next to him. He splits open an antiseptic wipe and cleans my finger before peeling off the paper tabs of a Band-Aid and wrapping it over my thumb.
As he seals the adhesive strips into place, his fingers trail down the lines of my hand, before lingering. As if he’ll take any excuse to touch me.
“All good?” he asks.
“Liam.” I pull out of his tender grasp, placing my hand on my lap and looking out the window at the falling snow instead of his face. “About last night.”
“You don’t want to keep going.” I can tell that he’s trying to wipe any emotion from his face, but he fails as his lips twitch downward. It’s almost like he expected this from me—to let him down. I hate that.
“No, it’s not that. It’s just . . . we need rules. Hard lines. I like my contracts. I know what to expect, and so does everyone else. When someone steps out of line then there’s a plan already in place.”
“Okay,” he says. Then he gets up and leaves, which I have no idea how to react to, so I just keep stitching along, working my way down the final edge.
A few seconds later he’s back, notebook in hand. Taking the same spot as before, he flips to a blank page, and nods. “What are your stipulations, Henrietta?”
“Pulling out the full first name. So official.”
“This is important stuff.”
I take a moment to think. It’s less about what I want and more about what’s reasonable to expect. What will keep us in safe waters? No feelings. No wishful thinking.
“This ends the moment you drop me off at the airport.” As I start to speak, his pen begins to scratch against the paper. “Six days to do whatever makes us feel good, but we stop if either of us asks. If things start to get complicated, we let each other know. You still have an article to write, and I need the money.” Using the small gap I left in the fabric, I pull it right-side out and start to put the stuffing back inside.
“Right.” A grin captures his mouth. “By the end of this trip, I’m going to make sure you know how to have fun, Henri. If you want to do something, we do it.”
“But—” That is not what I meant.
“Don’t say this is my holiday or some bullshit like that. I want to do it foryou. If I was your boyfriend, that’s what I would do—make sure you enjoyed your time here. And I’m half the act, right? It’ll be less convincing if I don’t do my part.”
“I think we might be overestimating my ability to chill the fuck out, but then you have to agree to have fun with me—no doing shit for your dad. If you take the position, you deserve to have one last winter here without having to be the big boss worrying about everything.” With the star filled, I make the final stitches and fix a knot to secure it.
“Deal.” With a flourish, he adds two lines to the bottom of the page and signs his name on one, a loopingLthat devolves into illegible scribbles.
He holds out the notebook to me and I trade the now-repaired ornament for it. I sign my name at the bottom next to his and then thrust it his way. Standing, he tucks it in his back pocket then closes the gap between us. Fingers brush under my chin, tilting my gaze up to his.
“What are you doing?” I gasp as his face lowers to mine.
“Were you hoping for a handshake?” His breath feathers over my skin.
“No. This is good.” Not in the middle of the night. Not in a torrent of need.
The light slashing through the window brings out streaks of gold in his brown eyes. I could stay here for hours and count all of his freckles.
“Hey,” someone says and my eyes dart to the door to find June standing there, arms crossed over her chest. I slam the notebook shut. Since I saw her downstairs, she’s changed into navy bib-style snow pants that fasten like overalls over a teal underlayer.
“Ever heard of knocking?” Liam groans.
“Door was wide open.”
