The knocks keep coming when he brings his eyes back to mine. He doesn’t fill his watch with the false flattery I typically get. It isn’t hungry, fleeting, or transactional. He scrutinizes me with a focus that’s almost analytical. There’s warmth beneath it, but also a curiosity that unsettles me in ways I can’t explain.
I should be nervous, possibly even defensive. Instead, it’s something else entirely.
I could be wrong—I have little to base this on—but it feels like the sensation of belonging. I don’t know him. We’re strangers tied together by a misunderstanding and a child who clings to my hand as if I’m her lifeline. Yet as his gaze lingers, my anxiety softens.
I’m accustomed to being judged by men who see only what they want. His scrutiny is different, however. It’s searching but not cruel, as if he’s striving to see past the layers I wear to hide the real me.
I shouldn’t feel comfortable or safe after being ruefully stripped of my cloak of anonymity, but for some insane reason, I do. It’s weird, like stepping into a house you’ve never visited and realizing the decor fits you perfectly. I want to be enough to hold his attention, even with every instinct urging me to keep my head down and stay invisible.
I’ve spent years keeping people at arm’s length, convinced that closeness only leads to pain, but Camille’s firm grip and her father’s heart-stuttering watch make me wonder what could happen if I granted myself permission to be a part of something bigger, even if it were only fleeting.
Inside the clinic, Camille still won’t release my hand. While her father fills out the paperwork I was worried about earlier, I sit beside her in the waiting room, my backside precariously hanging on a chair unsuitable for adults.
Camille doesn’t talk, but I keep her nerves calm by reminding her how much better I feel since the dentist fixed my tooth.
When her name is called, panic flashes through her eyes. I squeeze her hand before guiding her into the room I had been in less than twenty minutes ago.
The dentist smiles as Camille climbs onto the dental chair withoutletting go of my hand, then shows her the tools she’ll use during the appointment.
Camille’s grip on my hand slackens when Dr. Baglio uses the bumpy drill to tickle her stomach. It fully relaxes when the tickle path moves to her hands. She’s so eager to feel the vibrations of its whirrs that she holds both hands out, palms up.
While smoothing the crinkles in my coat, I glance at the exit. I could slip away now, and no one would be the wiser. I’m a stranger who unexpectedly entered their day, so staying would be more intrusive than helpful. Not only for Camille and her father, but for myself as well.
Believing Camille is distracted enough to miss my departure, I tilt toward the door. Before I take even a single step, a hand shoots out and snatches up my arm. Sparks jump from my skin, sudden and electric.
Stunned by the strength and circumference of Camille’s grip, I crack my neck back. My throat dries when my eyes don’t land on the tiny Sicilian I was expecting. This Sicilian native is much taller, and his gaze is far more detrimental to my sanity.
Camille didn’t grab me.
Her father did.
“Stay,” he says, his expression earnest and desperate. “She’ll never forgive me if I let you get away. I have a lot of ground to make up, so the last thing I need is another reason for her to hate me.”
I stare at him, caught between the awkwardness of lingering like a loser and the unexpected warmth of feeling needed.
For a long time, no one has desired me for anything beyond my body.
After a deliberation nowhere near long enough for the tenseness of the situation, I smile sheepishly and nod. “I’ll stay until her appointment is over.”
Relief spreads across his face, and Camille brightly smiles, still attentive enough to catch the exchange between her father and me.
I can only pray she can’t feel the sparks.
I don’t want her to get burned.
Needing distance before I set alight, I help Camille put on the sunglasses that will shield her eyes from any hazards, while recalling how doing the right thing isn’t always the easiest thing to do.
More often than not, it means staying to fight even when it’s safer to run.
