“I’m sure we can make a convert out of you,” Fletcher says, his brown eyes focused on me. His focus is so intense that it takes me by surprise.
“We will have to go to a game when we get home,” Thomas says, eyes locking on mine. His fingers trace a circle on my shoulder, distracting me from his statement.
I nod. PDA isn’t something I’m used to outside of thecomfort of the cottage. Ron and Dottie have seen it a few times, but Thomas isn’t usually this touchy with me around them, and it makes me wonder what the difference is.
Fletch interjects. “I can get you guys tickets, any game you want, let me know.”
“Really?” I question. “We don’t want to get you in trouble or anything.”
He waves off my question. “No way. I can talk to my director. We all have access to tickets and suites, and honestly, the only one that uses them is my best friend.”
“I could take you out for a real date,” Thomas suggests, kissing my cheek and brushing my hair from my face.
I blush furiously, looking away.
“Fletch, have you talked to your brother lately?” Dottie asks, directing the conversation away from hockey and dates. Fletcher talks with his mom and dad while Thomas and I listen, enjoying their company and laughing at some of the stories they tell about Fletcher and his siblings' childhood.
Thomas never leaves my side, and most of all, he never stops touching me. His touch is constant, from our hands being tangled together on top of the table, to a hand on my thigh, or around my shoulders. He pulls me in for random kisses now and then, too. Arson doesn’t leave my side either, his tail wrapped around my legs as he lies at my feet. Both of my boys are at my side, and the constant hum of anxious thoughts in my head dims.
There’s less fear of him judging the way I look when I walk over to throw an apple core in the garbage an hour later, and no anxiety, only humor. Even when I tell a story about my childhood, and the time Julia and I were being watched by some friends who lived on a farm, their sonconvinced us to swim in the mud pile that turned out to be manure.
All of that fizzles away until it’s a soft buzz, something that I can manage and not be overtaken by. This is what he does for me.
Many hours later when golden hour arrives and Fletcher yawns, Thomas stands from his chair, holding out a hand to me. “We should get going, freckles. Let’s leave them to themselves.”
Fletcher tries to protest, but Thomas shakes his head. “We’ve taken over your time with your parents, and I think Hannah and I are both tired.”
I agree, nodding. I really am exhausted. Perks of being an introvert, I suppose. Constantly exhausted after social interactions. However, I’ve noticed that doesn’t happen to me with Thomas. It’s like he’s exempt from that.
After one long Minnesota goodbye, Thomas and I are finally making our way to our temporary home. His arm is wrapped around my shoulders, one of my hands raised to twine our hands together as he pulls me into his body. We walk slowly.
“He was nice,” I say, kicking a rock at my feet.
“Mhm,” Thomas hums in agreement.
“Can I ask you something?” I ask, building up the courage.
“Hannah, you know you can ask me anything,” he replies, stopping us by the old truck that’s still in the area after the other night.
“Why were you extra touchy tonight?” Before he can reply, I blurt, “Not that I didn’t like it, I always like when you touch me.”
Thomas drops his arm from my shoulder, wrapping an arm around my torso and using the other to tilt my head upto look at him. “Oh, you like it when I touch you, do you, baby?” His voice drops an octave, and he nuzzles his face into my neck, kissing a line up to my jaw.
I suck in a gasp, my hands pressing against his chest as heat turns into embers in my core, waiting to burn. “Yes, but that’s not what I meant.” I lean away from his touch. “I mean, usually you’re not quite that touchy around Ron and Dottie. You are at the cottage, but this was different.”
“Because you’re mine, and I needed to make sure he knew that.”
“But… why?” I wonder.
“You clearly did not see the way he was looking at you, freckles. He wanted you.”
I scoff. “No, he didn’t.”
“Yes, he did. The minute he saw you, he was trying to think of ways he could sweep you off your feet. And, he’s a hockey player. They’re good at that. It’s what they’re known for.”
I look up at him, and I can tell he’s serious. He really thinks that Fletcher was interested in me.
“Thomas…” I take a deep breath. This is going to be hard to get out. “Even if he is interested in me—which there isno way—I am not interested in him.”
