But I don’t ask because she’s already done so much for me, and I don’t want to burden her with the hang-ups that are better saved for a therapist.
I huddle closer to Cash, soaking in his warmth, and settle my hand on his arm, giving it a lightthank yousqueeze.
He yelps softly.
“Sorry. Sorry,” I whisper as I release his arm. “My hands are?—”
“Freezing,” he whispers back.
He grabs my hand and cradles it in his. Warmth seeps into my fingers, and I almost want to cry again.
I like being held. I like being close to people.
But I don’t trust it.
That’s why I date, but only for short periods of time.
But it’s so easy to trust Cash right now.
His breath is warm in my ear as he murmurs, “Is your other hand cold too?”
“No.”
“Liar.”
“I can’t even feel it anymore.”
“How are you the closest one to the fire and the colder of the two of us?”
“Talent.”
He chuckles, the warm reverberations rumbling against my back. “Give me your other hand.”
“Bossy.”
“I don’t let people freeze on my watch.”
“You’re keeping the fire going. My poor circulation isn’t your fault.”
It’s not poor circulation.
It’s legit that the rest of the house is getting cold and there’s only so much that a fire can do.
Cash maneuvers my hands so they both press together against my breasts.
He doesn’t touch my breasts himself.
I don’t think.
I think that’s just my own hands.
And they’re warming up.
I curl into a tighter ball and press back against him. Swear I’m seeking warmth and warmth only.
Except his sharp inhale and the very solid ridge against my tailbone tell me I’m getting the full cuddling-with-my-secret-crush-who-likes-me-back experience.
“Sorry,” he mutters.
