He came over to me and did that thing where he lifts his hand as though he wants to touch me, but he stopped himself.
“Like that,” I said, gesturing to his hand. “It’s natural for you to touch people. Well, that sounds weird. I mean, touch their arm when you’re talking to them.”
He chuckled.
“It’s a gesture of reassurance, I know that. And I want to get used to it. You touched my arm the other night at my front door, and I could feel it long after you’d left.”
“Oh, Deacon,” he whispered.
“It wasn’t awful.”
He burst out laughing. “I’m glad. It wasn’t awful for me either.”
“Normally when people touch me, it feels wrong. Onmy skin. It feels all wrong, and my skin doesn’t like it. But not with you.” I grimaced because this was probably coming out all wrong. “You haven’t touched my skin. Just my arm through my sleeve. And I know, coming from you, it will be okay. You’ll be gentle and won’t grab me.”
“I would never.” Then he made a face. “Unless it was to pull you out of the way from a runaway vehicle or something.”
“Why would I be in the path of a vehicle?”
He grinned. “Let’s hope we never find out.”
Okay.
Conversations with Winter never went the way I’d thought they would...
“Anyway, what I’m trying to say is that I want to go with you,” I said, licking my lips. My mouth was dry and not overly pleasant. “If you invite me again to meet your friends. I should go. I want to. Even if for just a short while. I want to try. A leap of faith, Mom called it. But not in a religious way.”
He chuckled. “I get it.”
“And even if it doesn’t go well, at least I tried.”
“Of course. We can totally do micro-dates until you get used to it.”
“Micro-dates?”
“Yes. I made that up.” He shrugged. “But it’s funny you mentioned wanting to go next time I was invited somewhere, because we were invited to another dinner.”
Oh.
“Oh.” I blinked. “That was very fast. I wasn’t expecting that so . . . soon . . .”
He grinned at me. “It’s a Christmas dinner at Hamish and Ren’s place. Apparently they do it every year. It’s very low-key, casual. Just a meal and a few drinks. Well, they can drink. I don’t usually drink alcohol.”
“Me either.”
“So if you want to come with me, we don’t have to stay long. Just for as long as you’re comfortable.”
Maybe I’d volunteered my attempting to join him too soon...
“When is this dinner?”
“This weekend. Sunday evening. They like to meet before Christmas before everyone has other commitments.”
I grimaced. “I think I’m regretting saying I’d go next time.”
Winter laughed. “You’ll be fine. Small steps, Deacon.”
Small steps . . .
