Page 41 of Goode Tidings

I reach the door to Roosters first, swinging it open and waiting for Eden to step through.

Every head swivels our direction when we walk in. I knew that would happen, but knowing something will take place and watching it come to fruition is totally different. The patrons' collective astonishment is a living, breathing thing. The frown slides onto my face, familiar and comforting.

Roosters is a Snowflake mainstay, a watering hole that has been in the Jones family for decades. It smells like beer and fried food and a melting pot of everyone's perfume and cologne. The tolerably talented cover band has already begun their set, belting out a Jim Morrison song.

Eden glances back at me, probably making sure I didn't reverse out of the place. To be fair, I considered it.

She navigates a swath of tables and chairs, and when she looks back a second time, her eyes rake over my lower half.

"What?" I ask sharply. She's wearing a different pair of jeans, darker and, according to her, dressier. They don't look as worn, but they do this thing where they hug her curves and turn me into a puddle.

"Just making sure you're not naked again. Everybody is staring."

I sigh, loud enough to make sure the sassy brunette in front of me can't miss it. She loves to act like I dropped trou in front of her on purpose.

Judging by the subtle shake of her shoulders, she heard my discontent.

Eden leads the way to a table in full view of the window facing the street. Scratched wood grain, but solid. It presses up against a wall of ruby red textured wall paper.

She reaches for a chair, but my arm is faster. Two of my fingers hook into her back middle belt loop, stopping her.

She stutters to a halt, then whips around. The quick movement is unexpected, and my fingers tangle in the denim loop, my hand curling awkwardly. My arm follows the motion, swooping around her hip and lower back, unintentionally hauling her into me.

Eden grunts a soft sound as momentum pitches her forward. Two palms smack my chest. My hand that isn't tangled in her belt loop grips her hip, steadying her.

She's a warm exhale and a soft blink as she orients herself, sooty eyelashes fluttering. Heat starts beneath my breastbone, slipping through all my cracks.

"Are you ok?" she asks.

Her question throws me off. That's what I was going to ask her. "I'm fine. Why?" My thumb fans over the fabric of her top, just above the waistline of her jeans. So soft. The sweater, the jeans. Eden. All of it.

"Well," she laughs nervously. "You don't like being touched. And right now, I'm not sure where you end and I begin."

I swallow around the boulder in my throat. "It's not that I don't like it, it's just that it's been a long time, Eden. Since I've been touched by anyone." I shook her hand earlier, but this, right now? Very different.

She shifts in my arms. "This doesn't hurt you? For me to be this close?"

It does, actually. It hurts so good. "No," I lie.

Eden looks sideways. "People are staring at us," she murmurs, her mouth curving into a polite smile meant for an onlooker.

I don't follow her gaze. I don't care to. "Of course they are. Small towns, and all that."

She looks back at me. "And we've caused a bit of a scene."

"I suppose we have."

She takes a step back, but it only tugs me along with her. "My fingers are twisted in your belt loop."

Her eyebrows cinch together, silently asking how in the world did that happen?

"Here." My hand on her hip exerts gentle pressure, guiding her to half-spin. When she does that, my fingers untwine from her jeans and I pull my hand free. "There we go."

"Right," Eden says, flushed. It's the first time I've seen her off-kilter. I like it.

To keep from repeating what started the fiasco, I step around her and reach for the chair, pulling it out.

Eden's eyes meet mine as she sinks down. "Is that what started everything? You wanted to pull my chair out for me?"