“No, it’s good. It’s a good reminder.” Her gaze holds a lot of questions, but she doesn’t voice any of them, clearly deciding to play by her own rules—rules I would do well to remember.
“Let’s get back to the fun,” I offer. “Since you’re obviously not afraid of heights, tell me something that does scare you.”
“That’s your idea of fun?” she says, a teasing lilt to her voice. “Voicing my fears?”
She has a point. What can I say? Something about this woman is getting to me and making me want to know things … like what makes her laugh and what makes her scared and who’s hurt her and who’s healed her and everything in between.
“It could be fun.” I shrug and then smirk. “Also, I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”
“Hmm.” She taps her chin, looking up.
I take the opportunity to admire the blush crawling up her neck, inordinately proud that I put it there. Even though I can’t see her full face, I’d bet money on this woman having a sort of timeless beauty. Her skin looks milky soft, and I have a strong urge to brush my finger against her jawline. The thought makes a spark catch at the base of my chest.
“I’ll allow it,” she says, startling me out of my own head. “But you first,” she adds quickly.
I blink and have to take a beat to rewind our conversation so I remember what we were talking about. The sight of Cinderella smiling over at me has every thought that’s nother,here,nowfleeing from my brain.
“I’m fearless,” I quip, but she crinkles up her nose.
“Try again.”
I chuckle. “Fine. I’m afraid of zebras.”
She’s quiet for a second, and I keep my eyes glued to her as she presses her lips together—wow, we haven’t even talked about her lips yet—and raises her eyebrows high enough that they peek out over the top of her mask.
“You’re serious?” she says.
“Very serious.”
“Care to elaborate?”
“I don’t know. It’s like they don’t know who they are. Part donkey. Part horse. All around weird. Their black-and-white stripes make me dizzy. Yuck.” I shudder. “Don’t even like thinking about them, honestly.”
She bursts into laughter, and it’s my new favorite sound. “What have zebras ever done to you? Have you ever even seen one in real life?”
“At the zoo!”
“Ah, yes. The zoo is a terrifying place. I’m sure you’re just making it a regular thing to visit the zoo and be terrorized by zebras on what, a daily, weekly basis?”
I scowl at her, but it’s pretend. Her teasing makes me feel like a helium-filled balloon—like I’m full and alive and nothing can bring me down.
“Alright,” I say. “If my phobia is so funny to you, then you go.”
She sits back and primly folds her hands in her lap. “If you must know, I’m afraid of car washes.”
“Car washes?”
“Yes, the automatic kind that you have to drive into.”
“What’s so scary about that?”
She throws her hands up. “I don’t know. Probably nothing! I’ve never gone through one by myself, okay? I’m afraid I’ll mess it up, so I’m in this vicious cycle of being too nervous to try, and now I’m perpetually scared of it.”
“Huh.” I lean back as far as the catwalk will let me. Our shoulders are touching, my tux jacket brushing against the lacecovering her arm. I keep an eye on her as she shifts next to me. She doesn’t look uncomfortable, but maybe a little embarrassed.
“Thanks for telling me,” I say, nudging her shoulder with mine. “If you ever want to give it a try, I’d ride shotgun while you face your fear.”
She turns her head in my direction, eyes narrowed as if trying to determine if I’m being serious.
