“Different how?” I take another sip from my cup of coffee, using only one hand so I can keep holding hers. When was I last this excited about holding a girl’s hand? Early middle school?
“Happier,” she says, then winces. “Sorry, that was weird.”
“It wasn’t,” I say honestly. “You’re not wrong.”
Her cheeks warm, but she doesn’t look away this time.
Outside, a gust of wind sends snow swirling past the window. Inside, it smells like cinnamon and coffee and something quietly hopeful.
“Well,” she says reluctantly, glancing at her phone, “I should get back out there before I lose my nerve.”
“Good luck,” I tell her. “With all of it.”
She smiles, soft and genuine, as she pulls her hand from mine. “You too.” She stands and pulls on her coat, scarf, and gloves. As she heads for the door, she hesitates. “Hey, Ethan?”
“Yes?”
“I’m glad you don’t love Christmas.”
I hold her gaze. “This year,” I say, “I might rethink it.”
She smiles, pulls her scarf tighter, and steps back into the cold.
I watch her go, warmth spreading through me that has nothing to do with the coffee.
And everything to do with her.
Chapter Five
LIZ
I tellmyself I will not think about it.
I tell myself this while lying in bed Sunday night, staring at the ceiling, replaying the exact moment Ethan’s fingers laced with mine in the coffee shop. Actually, he just put his hand on top of mine. I’m the one who grabbed his hand. As much as I’d like to pretend it was an accident instead of a choice, that isn’t possible. He’s bound to know how I feel about him now.
It was cold. Maybe he’ll think I just needed to warm my hand.
Yeah, no.
That will not fly. I initiated that intimate little hand flirting. There’s no stepping back from that. And it’s so silly to sit here, obsessing about holding a guy’s hand.
I mean, dream-Ethan had his cock inside me.
But that’s how my mind works, overthinking everything. Making every situation as stressful as it possibly can be.
I think about the way his thumb brushed over my knuckles, soft, grounding, like he knew exactly how fast my heart was beating and was trying to slow it down. I think about how he leaned in slightly, voice low, telling me it was okay to hate Christmas parties, that his college roommate had social anxiety.
Maybe he was holding my hand only to comfort me. The way you touch a sad child to show them you’re there and that you understand. Maybe it wasn’t flirting as much as him feeling sorry for me. But he’s been paying so much attention to me at work. Or was he just being kind? The way he’s kind to everyone?
I roll onto my side and groan into my pillow.
This is bad.
This isterrible.
By Monday morning, I’m exhausted from my own thoughts. My brain is so tired I can’t even obsess about what to say to Ethan the next time I see him. Besides, Ethan isn’t in the office.
I know this because I checked his calendar even though I absolutely did not need to. Work trip. Out of state. Back Tuesday night.
