His eyes narrow slightly, but he gives a barely noticeable nod.
“Have you ever done this before?” I pause for a second, working out how to phrase what I’m trying to say. “Saved a person? Or even . . . touched another person?”
He’s so still, so quiet, I don’t think he’s going to answer. His lips press together, and I wonder if he’s trying to decide whether he should. Within moments, the solid outline of his shoulders, his arms, begin to fade again, and I chew my lip. He’s not going to tell me, is he?
But then, just when I’m about to give up altogether, he shakes his head. “No. I haven’t.”
He’s gone before I can respond. I stand alone in my room, frozen in place for I don’t know how long, replaying every second over and over.
No. I haven’t.
That’s the only part of our conversation that really makes sense to me. Not why he saved me—me, of all people—or what exactly happened with my hand the other night; I still wish I had the answers to those questions. But the fact that he’s never done this before, that makes sense.
Never saved a life. Never touched a person. A woman.
This is just as new to him as it is to me. Perhaps newer to him in some ways; I’ve been surrounded by people on and off my entire life. I think back to that first time he felt me, skimming over my scar, my neck, in the bathroom. He was so gentle, so careful. Like I might break. And then the other night, when he traced his fingers along my lips . . . I remember thinking there was something so deliberate yet sensual about the way he did it, almost like it was his first time touching a woman’s lips.
And it was.
The alarm clock on the nightstand blares, making me flinch as I snap back to reality. I let out a shaky breath and move my wobbly legs toward the clock, hitting the golden piece of metal at the top to make it stop.
Eight fifteen. Right.
Mr. Blackwood.
I have a job to get to.
Chapter 15
Claire’snot behind the front desk when I descend the staircase. Instead I find her standing by the front door, dumping items into one of two large cardboard boxes. Her blonde hair is pulled back in a high, perky ponytail today, and when she sits beside the Christmas tree, dressed in brightly colored leggings and a sweater dress, she reminds me of a Christmas elf. I hold back a chuckle; does she not realize it’s almost February now? It’s not just her, either. The whole town seems to be the type to leave their Christmas lights on year-round.
“Morning.” I stroll up beside her and peek into the boxes. One is partially filled with Christmas decorations, and the other carries a folded Happy New Year banner and other knick-knacks.
I’m half paying attention, half still reeling from my moment withhimupstairs. It feels strange, almost unreal, being down here right now as though everything’s normal, after . . . that.
“Morning, Lou!” Claire plucks four reindeer figurines off the window sill, then sheepishly glances from the boxes to me and back again. A scrunched up, embarrassed grin spreads across her face. “Better late than never, right?”
I smile back. “That’s my motto.”
“Right? Works wonders for me. I considered skipping the New Year decorations altogether since it’s so late, but how sad would that be? You can’t justskipa holiday.” Her eyes dart around once more. “You don’t think it’s a little over the top, though? I mean, a huge banner in a small place like this?”
“No way.” Scanning the rest of the lobby, I see that most of the Christmas decorations have already been removed by now, other than the big things like the lights and tree. “Need a hand? I still have a minute before I need to head out.”
“Really?” She sounds doubtful, but her blue eyes twinkle at me as she moves to a ladder and pulls it toward us.
I laugh. “Yeah, is it such a surprise?”
“No, it’s just . . . I didn’t think you’d be into this sort of thing, I guess.”
I shrug a shoulder as I kneel down to retrieve the banner. “I love the New Year. It’s my favorite holiday.” It’s the truth, even though my voice sounds small and sad when I say it. I can see Claire watching me silently, so I let myself continue. “Grams always said that a new year can mean a new beginning if you want it to.” I chuckle dryly. “We had a lot of new beginnings.”
I pause as I fumble with the banner, trying to stretch it out, and Claire grabs onto the other end. She climbs up the ladder with her end in hand and pins it easily above the doorway before climbing back down. I take my turn, adjusting the ladder a few feet to the right and making my way up its steps.
“Anyway,” I continue as I pin the right side up, “with everything going on lately, I didn’t get to celebrate like she and I usually would have. My first New Year ever that I didn’t celebrate, actually. So I love that you’re doing all this.” I lower myself onto the ground, then step back to admire our work. “It’s perfect.”
Claire’s mouth is hanging open, probably trying to process the talkative side of me. I can’t blame her; even when we hang out after work, I haven’t been the most open person. Things have been rough lately—not to mention more than a little odd—and she has no idea how much this small act has just helped me. I’m not even sure I know either just yet, but I already feel the way this space is soothing some of the ache in my chest.
Besides, it’s about time for me to quit moping around and figure out how to live on my own.
