I shiver wonderfully. “I’m never taking it off.”
Cricket brushes the delicate skin of my wrist. “It’ll fall off.”
“I’ll ask you for another one.”
“I’ll give you another one.” He smiles and touches his nose to mine.
And then he spasms violently and pushes me away.
Someone is coming upstairs. Cricket grabs the songbird off my desk and shoves it into my hair as Andy pops his head in. My dad gives us a look. “Just making sure everything is okay. It’s getting late. You should get going.”
“We’ll be down in a minute,” I say.
“You’re not even wearing shoes. Or makeup.”
“Five minutes.”
“I’m timing it.” Andy disappears. “And it’ll be Nathan up here next,” he calls out.
“So what do you think?” Cricket asks.
“You’re good. Very, very good.” I poke his chest, giddy with the knowledge that I can touch him now whenever I want. “How did you get so good?”
“It’s safe to say that you’re the one who brings it out of me.” He pokes my stomach. “But I meant your hair.”
I’m beaming as I turn toward the mirror, and . . . “OH.”
The updo looks professional. It’s tall and splendid and elaborate, but it doesn’t overwhelm me. It complements me. “This is . . . it’s . . . perfect.”
“You will never tell anyone I did that on pain of death.” But he’s grinning.
“Thank you.” I pause, and then I look down at my pale blue fingernails. “You know that thing you said about someone being perfect for someone else?”
“Yeah?”
My eyes lift back to his. “I think you’re perfect, too. Perfect for me. And . . . you look amazing tonight.You always do.”
Cricket blinks. And then again. “Did I black out? Because I’ve daydreamed those words a thousand times, but I never thought you’d actually say them.”
“THREE MINUTES,” Andy calls from downstairs.
We break into nervous laughter. Cricket shakes his head to refocus. “Boots,” he says. “Socks.”
I point them out, and while he finishes prepping them, I mascara my lashes, powder my face, and gloss my lips. The makeup is dropped into my purse. I have a feeling I’ll need retouching before I come home. Cricket sweeps me up by my waist and carries me to the bed, and I’m lifting my skirts as he sets me down on the edge. His eyes widen, but it turns into more laughter when he sees how many layers are underneath.
I grin. “There’s more than panniers under here.”
“Just give me your foot.”
From downstairs: “ONE MINUTE.”
Cricket kneels and takes my left foot into his hands. The sock comes on too fast. My boot squeaks as he slides it over my leg. His careful, quick fingers lace it all the way up to my knee, where they linger ever so slightly. I close my eyes, praying for the clock to stop. He tugs and tightens the buckles. And then he repeats everything on the other side.
Somehow, this is the sexiest thing that has ever happened to me.
“I wish I had more feet,” I say.
“We can do this again.” He tightens the last buckle. “Anytime.”