“Because I’m short,” she said, waving a hand down her body even though her small stature was obvious. “And because I have a shellfish allergy.”
“Ouch. Double whammy.” Mitch picked up his glass and tipped it her direction. “Thank you for the refill. I figured you’d want to polish it off.”
In reality, Faith wasn’t that much of a wine drinker. She just knew that was what people her age did on dates: went out—or stayed in—for drinks. Not that this was a date in the traditional sense. Or in any sense, really. Sarah had suggested beingwelcoming. Friendly. Neighborly, if you will. Neighbors sharing a nightcap was totally acceptable, right?
But thelooksthey were sharing. That was something different altogether.
Each time Mitch cast a glance toward Faith, who was seated on the loveseat all to herself, his eyes would lock onto hers for more than just a moment. He never merely glanced and looked away. She wouldn’t classify it as staring, but at the very least, would call it a prolonged gaze.
She couldn’t make sense of it. She didn’t look great. She’d scrubbed her face free of her makeup before he’d gotten there. Twisted her unruly curls into a sloppy ponytail. Her sweatshirt was ragged, the hemline fraying with paint stains splattered across the front. But in some fashion circles, that was all the rage, she supposed.
Maybe Mitch wasn’t looking at her out of desire, but out of disgust. That would pencil.
“I’m sorry the class gave you such a hard time today,” she said before taking another sip of the bitter drink. She wondered if the bottle had gone bad, or if all alcohol was this acidic. If Mitch found it unpleasant, he didn’t let on.
“I knew what I was getting into. And for as precocious as kids like Zachary are, he kept me on my toes and made me choose my words wisely. Sometimes those presentations can get a little redundant, so the added challenge was good for me.”
“It sounds like you’re pretty good with kids.”
“I like kids.” Mitch’s strong throat pulled with a swallow as he took another drink of the merlot before returning his glass to the coffee table between them. “Hope to have a whole house full of them someday.”
Was this where she was supposed to share her future family plans? Because it wasn’t a conversation she cared to have with a casual acquaintance, let alone someone so…Mitch.
Her silence didn’t go undetected.
“It’s getting late.” Pulling his arm down from its relaxed position on the couch, Mitch clapped his palms to his thighs. “I should probably head over to my place for the night.”
“I’m not sure I want kids.” The words came out a sentence too late, feeling awkwardly ill-placed.
“No?” He settled back in to offer her his full attention. “You don’t think so?”
“I mean, I’ve got my brother and sister. I think they’re probably enough for me when it comes to kids and family, much to my mother’s dismay.”
“They’re younger?” His dark brow line pinched in the middle.
“Much. My mom actually found out she was pregnant with them a week after my dad passed.”
“Oh.” Something crossed Mitch’s face before he adeptly reclaimed his expression. “Twins, I take it?”
“Connor and Cadee.” The thought of her tiny siblings drew a wistful smile to her face. They were certainly a surprise, but of the very best kind. “They’re just shy of four years old, and boy, do they keep my mom on her toes. I suppose I was technically a surprise, too, though. Mom and Dad had me when they were barely eighteen. Had just graduated high school,” she said, probably revealing more than she needed to. “It’s funny. My mom was always so worried about being a young grandma since she’d had me so young. I don’t think it ever crossed her mind that she’d be the one starting over at her age.”
“Life has an interesting way of interrupting your best laid plans.”
There was more to his story. Faith could see it plainly on his face, like Mitch was working hard to keep his mouth from popping open and spilling the full truth. She decided to change the subject, if only to give him an out.
“So, Mitch. What brought you to Snowdrift?”
It didn’t serve as the escape she hoped it would. Mitch’s disposition transformed in an instant, his agitation visible in his tensing of his jaw, the flexing of his hand into a fist before relaxing, only to ball back up again.
“It’s okay,” she backtracked. “You don’t have to—”
“I made a mistake at work,” he said quickly. “One I was reminded of each and every day.”
She wondered if it was his fellow firefighters that gave him a hard time, or if the weight of his guilt was just in his own mind.
“I’m sorry,” was all she could think to say.
“Me too.” His voice caught with emotion. “But I’m happy to be here. In Snowdrift.”
