Easton is leaning against the doorframe, and I realize he’s been watching me examine his mother’s things.
“Thanks,” he says when I hold the glasses out to him, our fingers brushing when he takes them.
“This place is amazing,” I tell him again, swallowing whatever emotions I feel from being in this room. This tiny house full of her personality and hobbies. “So is your mom.”
“Yeah, she is.” He pauses, then adds with a nonchalant shrug, “So are you, though.”
My heart skips a beat. “You think I’m amazing?”
This is news to me, but I’ll take the compliment—it’s not as if he doles them out on a regular basis. In fact, we’re still on somewhat shaky ground; the kiss does not count. So if he wants to tell me I’m amazing, so be it.
We stand there a few moments, the quiet of the she shed wrapping around us like a blanket. The sun is warm, and in the yard beyond us, Rudy has managed to chill, basking in the afternoon solitude.
“I think you’re pretty amazing, too,” I tell him softly, and instantly regret being such a cheeseball.
His eyes widen. “Yeah? Sometimes it’s hard to tell.”
We stand there, inches apart, the air around us crackling.
Rudy barks.
Easton looks down my body, then back up at my face.
Into my eyes.
Down my body.
Up at my face.
Emboldened by some unknown pull, he takes a small step closer, closing the gap between us. In his mother’s shed, no less!
His hand moves as if on its own, reaching up to brush a strand of hair from my face. The touch is light. Gentle. Careful.
And it sends a shiver down my spine.
I should step back. That’s the right thing to do? So things don’t get more complicated?
“Easton, what are you doing?” I whisper.
“I have no idea.”
Chapter 21
Easton
Don’t do it, man.
Don’t you dare fucking kiss her again…
Harper’s eyes search mine, wide and questioning, her voice barely a whisper.
“What are you doing?”
The truth is: I have no fucking clue.
My brain is a mess, my heart’s pounding as if I were standing center ice for the puck drop at the beginning of one of my games, and all I can think about is how close she is, how I can smell her perfume mixing with the scent of paint and the last candle that was burning in Mom’s shed.
My mouth is dry, and all I can manage is a feeble “I have noidea.”
