She steps, my weight shifts, and a sharp pain followed by a dull ache takes me out of my head—which was happily in the clouds—and right back to earth.
As we make our way back toward the trailhead, I’m acutely aware of the warmth of her body, the scent of her shampoo, and the way she adjusts her pace to match mine without complaint.
“I’m sorry about this,” I say as we navigate a particularly tricky part of the trail. “Not exactly how I planned for this day to go.”
Paige glances at me, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “You’re not trying to get out of a rematch, are you? I’m the one who tripped you. I deserve a chance at redemption.”
Her easy humor lightens the mood, and I chuckle despite the throbbing in my ankle. “Deal,” I say. “Though next time, I won’t take it so easy on you.”
She pokes my side. “You’d better not. I like a challenge.”
By the time we reach the trailhead, my ankle is aching in earnest, and I’m leaning heavily on Paige. She helps me to her SUV, a sleek vehicle that looks more at home on city streets than these rural roads. I send a text to Sam asking him if he and Alexis will pick up my truck and bring it home. He responds with a thumbs up and no questions—which is great. I’m not sure I’m ready to tell him about Paige, especially after the way he looked at me at the Tree Lighting. He knows I was looking at her that night.
“Home, James,” she says with a grin as she starts the engine. The interior of the car is all gray leather and high-tech gadgets.
It beeps and then says. “Planning route to home.”
“You named your car, James?” I ask as she pulls up the navigation screen and changes the directions to my house. I’m not surprised she knows where I live; it is a small town.
“Yep,” Paige says as we pull onto the main road, “Why don’t we stop by the baker first? You shouldn’t have to worry about cooking tonight.”
“You don’t have to do that,” I protest weakly. The idea of hobbling around my kitchen, even to heat up soup, exhausts me.
Paige just shakes her head, her eyes on the road. “I want to. Besides, I’m starving.”
“You could stay for dinner,” I offer. It’s not much of an invitation. “I mean, I’d like it if you’d stay for dinner. You don’t have to—if you have somewhere to be, I understand.”
“I want to. Thanks.”
I’m floored by her ability to take my awkward moment and be genuinely cool about it.
As we drive through town, Paige points out changes since she was last here, asking questions about new businesses and the townhouses on the edge of town.
At the baker, Paige insists on going in alone while I rest my ankle. She returns laden with bags that fill the car with mouthwatering aromas—freshly baked bread, savory soups, and something sweet that makes my stomach growl in anticipation. She hands me a drink. “Take some pain meds.” She opens the console and pulls out a bottle of over-the-counter stuff, mumbling, “I can’t believe I didn’t think of this before.”
“You?” I laugh as I throw the pills back and take a swallow of water to chase it down. “I’m the one whose ankle hurts. I should have been begging you for pills. You distracted me.”
She laughs. “That was my first plan—distract you from the pain.”
I touch her hand that’s resting on the consol. “It worked.”
Our eyes meet, and the world does that slowdown thing. A car honks behind us, and we jump. I’m embarrassed, but try not to act like it. I clear my throat, and Paige puts the car in gear.
The drive to my house is short. Paige helps me inside, her arm around my waist again, supporting me as if she’s done it a hundred times before.
We enter my small cottage, and I’m suddenly acutely aware of every imperfection. The books piled on the side table, the faded curtains, the fact that I haven’t run the dishwasher in two days. I live alone—I don’t have that many dishes, but I wish I’d started it this morning.
Paige doesn’t seem to notice or care. She bustles about, helping me to the couch, elevating my ankle on a pillow, and unpacking the food with an efficiency that’s almost dizzying.
“Make yourself at home,” I say, feeling a bit useless as I watch her move from my living room to the kitchen and back like she belongs here.
Paige flashes me a smile over her shoulder as she grabs plates from a cupboard. “Don’t mind if I do,” she says cheerfully. “Now, where do you keep your glasses? I picked up some of that cider—you mentioned that you liked it earlier. Thought it might help warm us up.”
Oh my gosh. I know I said something about liking cider, but I can’t remember when or in what context—and yet she remembered. This woman is amazing.
As she turns to search for the glasses, her eyes land on a framed sketch hanging on the wall. It’s a pencil drawing of the town square during the Christmas tree lighting ceremony, capturing the twinkling lights and the expressions of the people. I finished it last night and put it in the frame. I always put my latest work in there. It’s just a funny thing I do.
“Noah,” she breathes, moving closer to examine the artwork. “Was this… this year’s? It is!” She points to where she’s standing in the picture. “That’s me.”
