I narrowed my eyes at the curtains. “The cold will be pretty strong if we open the curtains much more. I can feel the wind if I hover near the glass.”
“Right. Of course.” She adjusted herself on the couch for thefourth timeand blew a raspberry with her lips. Seeing her upset bothered me. If anything, I should try to ease whatever worry she had. I just had no idea how.
She scanned the room with a frown. “Do you have a candle?”
Did I? My ex had bought them, but she took all her stuff when she left. I checked under the kitchen sink and came up blank. There was literally no other location I would house one. “Nope, I don’t.”
She let out a humph and nodded. It was the oddest thing, watching her make a decision without voicing it. I couldn’t stop watching her. She got up, found the crazy pile of yarn on the chair, and returned to her position before winding the red and green string around her knitting needles. The metal utensils clinked each time they touched but, other than that slight disturbance, silence and the distant sound of the howling wind outside filled my home. I rarely felt the urge to fill the quiet, often causing the lack of conversation. With her, though, it was different.
I gripped the back of my neck, shrugging. “I’d offer a flashlight, but we should save those for the night.”
“I understand.”
“Can you knit without good light?”
She nodded. Her smile lit up her entire face “Yes. I’d prefer to read but this is relaxing. I refuse to let a pesky little storm deter my plans to read, so I’ll find a way somehow once I make progress on this scarf.”
She fascinated me, and I wanted to know more. “Earlier, you mentioned reading ten books this semester. Why?”
“I made a reading goal for myself, and I hate losing. Thus, I will finish it.” She pointed to the crime book.
My always-happy neighbor read about murder. Another surprise. Maybe she wasn’t anything like I’d assumed two years ago. A warm sensation spread in my chest, watching her smile.What the hell?
She never once stopped moving the sticks in her hands, and a scarf-like strip of finished knitting had taken shape.
“Do you have a candle or something at the house?” I didn’t want my lack of candles to be a reason she didn’t meet her goal.
She gave me a sly grin, like we shared a secret. “They’re not allowed. You kidding me? Fifty girls and flames? No freaking way.” She lowered her voice in an unassumingly sexy way. “Idohave some in my room, but I’ll never tell the girls. They smell so good, you know? Scents matter to me so much. I swear, most people I know have their own scent, but not in a creepy way. Like Marissa, one of the girls, wears this vanilla-orangey lotion that I can smell miles away. I know when the girl is in the house or not.” She paused, a red tinge creeping up her cheeks, and cleared her throat. “Could we make a run over there?”
Her voice was lined with so much hope that I couldn’t resist. “You won’t. You stay safe here. I can, though. Where are they? I’ll go now.”
Quirky, overtalkative Becca broke her own rule for candles, rambling on about scents until my attraction to her seemed to grow. I was sure she hated me, and I didn’t do relationships. Maybe the cold would whip some damn sense into me.
She set her yarn down, stood to her fullest height, and placed her hands on her hips. “Harrison, I can go over there and get themwithyou.”
“Becca,” I used her same tone, “it’s dangerous outside. I’ll go. It won’t take long.”
She huffed. “But what if something happens and you don’t come back? There are huge icicles and frozen trees that could fall. I should be there to help you dodge them or help if you get hit.”
Frozen trees?
“I’ll be fine,” I assured her. “Just tell me where they are.”
“Buddy system. We’re blizzard buddies! You said so. What you do, I do.”
Something in her voice gave me pause, stopping me from ranting about all the reasons she would make the trip more unsafe.Fear? Nerves?She was worried about something, and if tagging along helped her out, then I could adjust.
I shrugged. “Okay. You want to head there now?”
She nodded a bit too hard, and some of her hair fell in front of her petite features. She pushed a strand back and reached for her ridiculous hat before layering on her winter wear. Not one item matched with another. My entire life was about uniforms and wearing orange and black. Her lack of care—wearing six colors in various patterns—confused me as much as it intrigued me. Who just let go enough to wear a rainbow?
Catching me staring at her, she flinched. “It’s my hat, isn’t it? I know it’s ugly, but I made it myself and I’m immensely proud of it. My mom scolded me for wearing it to one of the awful dates she always sets up for me, but it’s my way of rebelling.”
“I wasn’t staring at your hat.”
“Oh.” She glanced down at her mismatched array of winter clothes and shrugged. “Then what is it?”
“I’m used to wearing only orange and black.” There, I went with the truth. I wasn’t sure how she’d react since my track record sucked.
