And she understood by the way he said it that he meant it in the most kind and generous way.
"I'm going to ask you a personal question," she warned. Her heart was beating harder, her palms began to sweat. It wasn't the hormonal zigzagging inside of her this time. This time it was personal. She'd been thinking about the detective. A lot. A man hadn't captured her attention in a long time and that had to mean something.
"I feel like we just went through a religious experience together so I'll allow it."
"Why don't you date?" When he looked at her she held up a hand. "I'm just curious because you're not," she tilted her head and shrugged a shoulder, "the worst."
He laughed, the sound clear and filling her ribs. "I'm taking from that, you think I'm handsome and absolutely the best."
She stopped walking and pulled on all of her bravery. "Yeah," she replied. "I think you're interesting and I like talking to you." What she didn't outright say was that she was attracted to him in a way she hadn't felt in years. Maybe ever. She didn't say it, but the way she connected her amber eyes to his was intimate and she watched his widen with a spark of recognition that swiftly shuttered and turned to jest.
She understood building walls. She knew that some walls were built with humor and smiles.
"Are you saying you like me, Eloise Willow?" His tone was teasing, but his energy was alert and when she smelled the sweetorange turn sharp, she knew he was worried, anxious. And the bravery she'd pulled upon slipped.
"I can tell the baristas not to serve you, you know." Her teasing matched his, making light of what she had made serious. He didn't date.
His face turned serious in a flash. "That is the meanest thing anyone has ever said to me." Then he let out a great sigh, the kind held inside him for a long time gathering dust. "I was cursed. I can't fall in love."
She stopped walking and after two steps he realized she had so he turned around and stopped to look at her. "I know it sounds crazy and the only reason I'm telling you is because you live in The Lost Souls House and you just had a hawk give you a present and," he held up his cup, "I am not convinced this isn't some kind of magic."
"You can't fall in love?"
He shook his head, that dimple in his cheek prominent but his smile sad. "It's a bit of a story, that maybe I'll tell you one day, but no. I can't fall in love. And if I can't love a woman, then why date? I made a few mistakes when I was younger and decided that I wouldn't put someone through that."
Lemon drop candies and flickering flames over burning hickory wove through her senses as immense sadness filled her for this man.
"Taylor, that's horrible. Someone did that to you? Also, what is with this town and cursed men? The cursed men-to-population ratio is out of control."
He shrugged a shoulder, that side smirk that showed off his dimple trying to assuage the pain that she could feel coming from him. "Like I said, long story. But hey, I get to have cool friendships with women who attract hawks. Tell me I'm not a lucky man."
She smiled, though the pain was like a soft current flowing from him. "You are lucky. I'm a great friend."
"And a Disney princess," he added.
She pointed a finger at him with raised eyebrows. "Exactly. Want me to sing for you?"
His laughter was warm, a thank you for her easy camaraderie, her offered friendship to a cursed soul.
Two cats joined their walk flanking either side of them like tiny sentries; one she knew was Sulphur, and the other was a fluffy black and grey thing Ursula had recently named Georgia. As they walked up the winding, wooded road to The Lost Souls House, Taylor was telling her what he enjoyed about being a detective in this small, historic town he had grown up in. She'd asked and he answered easily because he found himself at ease in her presence. He wasn't one to offer up much in the way of his thoughts and feelings as he found himself guarded more often than not, but here with her there was a sense of calm. No agenda, no games. He didn't have the thought that she was flirting or testing him.
"Okay, why did you want to walk me home? Seemed like you had something to say."
He nodded and everything shifted then. The easy camaraderie evaporated and her nose picked up the smell of caution.
"Okay, let me set you up with this guy."
She was standing on a porch step above where he stood on the herringbone brick walkway. Both cats traipsed off in different directions, tails swishing and attitudes unbothered.
This again?
"Why?"
"I don't know," he answered with honesty in his voice but hesitation in his eyes.
She knew why. He knew why. But to speak of it would be to name it, and naming a thing was a very potent kind of honestyshe wasn't sure either of them could afford. And because she was fearful of how much she liked the detective in a way that felt pure like the first snow of winter, and knowing he would never feel the same way, she said yes.
He not only told her he didn't date, that he was cursed, and that he thought of her as a friend, he was trying to set her up with someone else. The only way he could have made his disinterest clearer was if he made a sign and held it up each time she saw him. It might help the butterflies that erupted inside her when she saw him and his adorable dimpled smile. She imagined them as zebra longwings, fluttering around and landing on her ribs in black and white striped hope. No more hope. He was a closed door.
