“You didn’t need to do that.” I didn’t plan on staying long enough to get comfortable, but since he went to all the trouble of bringing it out, I settle on the plush cushion.
“I do not want the grass to stain your lovely dress.” He says it so simply, so nonchalantly, as he plops back onto the wagon’s step.
He thinks my dress is lovely.
Am I that starved for compliments that a casual remark about my outfit would make my stomach flip? I really must get out more.
Perhaps I’ll visit the Black Rose later to find someone emotionally available who is willing to give me the praise I deserve. Then again, that would require acknowledging the fact that I am no longer part of a couple, which in turn would set Rosehill’s rumor mill ablaze.
I’m not in the mood to start any fires today.
A butterfly flits between us, its white-speckled wings quivering against the summer breeze. Maddox frowns, and I expect him to wave the insect away; instead, he holds out his hand, and it lands right on the tip of his finger.
When I was little, I used to try catching butterflies with a net but never succeeded. “I’ve never seen anyone able to do that.”
The butterfly’s antennae twitch as it crawls toward his knuckle. He turns his hand so carefully, letting the insect roam to its tiny heart’s content. “They think I am a bush.”
He might be green, but he definitely doesn’t look like a bush. Another one lands right on his head, followed by another on his knee. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Maddox as still.
Then the damn goat shudders, and they all take off at once, lifting into the sky like flakes of fluttering snow.
Who would’ve thought an Unseelie would be so at home in the middle of a garden? I can’t imagine Maddox anywhere else.If he marries his Unseelie, will they live here, or will he return to their lands across the canyon?
The thought of him going away makes me far sadder than it should.
I give myself a shake. No sense getting emotional over such a silly thing outside of my control. “So, what was wrong with the list? Did you have trouble reading my writing?”
The ends of his hair flutter like those butterfly wings when he shakes his head. “Your writing was not the problem. Your hands make beautiful letters.”
Another stomach flip. “What’s the matter, then?”
He takes out the list, unfolds the page, and scans the words as his brow slowly furrows. “Number three.” He taps the page. “Hold her hand. Why is this necessary?”
Is he serious? Has he never held a woman’s hand before? No wonder he’s not mated yet. This is probably the simplest task on the entire list.
“Do females find their hands heavy? Is that why some keep them in their pockets? I keep my flask in my pocket.”
“What? No! Look.” I reach for his free hand, taking it in mine. The rough callouses feel delicious against my skin. Heavens, do I love a man with calloused hands. Nolan’s hands were rough from his training regimen. There’s something so sensual about the way?—
Nope. Not going down that route. I must stay the course and not get distracted by how large and rough his hands feel between mine. “It’s about connection,” I say, lacing our fingers together. “When a man holds your hand, it makes you feel safe and wanted. It’s a silent claim, letting everyone around know you’re together. It’s comforting. A touch that doesn’t ask for more. It just says,I’m here with you. Here for you.”
So many touches feel like they’re only a precursor to the next one, which leads to the one after that.
When was the last time Nolan simply held my hand? I can’t even remember.
I drop Maddox’s hand and scrub my palm down my skirts.
“I will hold her hand,” Maddox says, his voice thick as he shifts on the step, the wood groaning beneath his weight.
Emotion lodges in my throat, and I have to clear it twice before speaking. Maybe I’m not as over this heartbreak as I previously thought. “Good. She will like it very much.”
Maddox’s goat lifts its head to stare at me with eyes so big, they look like they’re about to pop out of his skull. He stumbles to his feet and then leaps toward me, all four spindly legs leaving the ground at once. With a butt of his horns against my knee, he buries his head in the bottom of my skirts and?—
Is hechewingon me?
“Biscuits, no.” The authority in Maddox’s tone snaps my spine straight. Who knew such a jovial person could sound so commanding? And why did that make my stomach flutter as well?
This is most inconvenient.
