Things You Save in a Fire - Katherine Center Page 0,56
made were playing themselves out. There was nothing left to do but step out and meet him.
Just as I did, he looked up and saw me.
Here was something I noticed: He dropped his smile for a second right then. It was like he forgot everything—what he was saying, what he was doing. He held very still.
Did I look that different? I wondered. Was I that shocking?
In my whole life, nobody had ever looked at me that way.
I guess I could have come up with some self-deprecating explanation for the shock of his expression: food in my teeth, a booger, a sudden nosebleed … But I didn’t.
I knew that stare. I knew it because I recognized it.
It was exactly the way I was staring at him.
Here’s something else I noticed: All my naked agony of anticipation? At the sight of him, it melted away. All my nervousness—gone. His presence in the room made everything okay.
Maybe I was doomed to regret everything later. But I couldn’t regret anything right now.
I took a step closer.
So did he—forgetting my mom and Josie altogether. “You clean up good.”
“Back atcha,” I said.
“Thanks for saving me tonight,” he said.
“Just don’t tell anybody.”
His smile faded again then, and he made a dead-serious X over his heart as he said, “Hope to die.”
He took a few steps closer, like we were the only people in the room. Then he took my hand to lead me to the door.
“I have to tell you something, rookie,” I said.
“What?”
“I cannot walk in these shoes.”
“That’s fine,” he said, holding out his arm. “I’ll help you.”
“And I feel totally naked in this dress.”
He stepped back like he was checking. “You’re definitely not naked. That, I would notice.”
“And I know this is not a date, but it kind of feels like a date, and I need you to know I’ve never been on a date before.”
He tilted his head. “Never?”
“Never.”
“This is your first date?”
“It’s not a date.”
“But if it were—it would be?”
I nodded. “If it were, it would be.”
I think we said good-bye to my mom and Josie, but I don’t really remember.
All I remember is the feel of his arm around my waist, and how thin that silky fabric was, and how I was aware of everything: the wind blowing my hair, the late-afternoon sun on my collarbones, the feel of each unsteady step. Every inch of my skin felt awake, every breath I took seemed to swirl in my chest, and every time I dared to glance over at the rookie, my whole body tingled.
Not good—and too good, all at the same time.
He led me to his truck and opened the door for me.
Was I perfectly capable of opening my own door? Yes.
But I liked it.
As I tried to settle into my seat, I didn’t know what to do with my legs. Finally, I crossed them, watching one hook over the other with a strange, out-of-body feeling like they didn’t even belong to me.
The rookie, settling in on his side, watched them, too. Instead of starting the car.
“I didn’t know you had legs,” he said then, nodding at them.
“Yep,” I said. “Always.”
“You kind of keep them hidden.”
“Not hidden,” I said. “Just, you know—in my pants. Exactly where you keep yours, by the way.”
“But you have women’s legs,” he explained.
“Yes.”
“And I don’t.”
“True.”
“I’m just saying, nobody wants to see my legs.”
“I’m sure somebody wants to see them. Case, maybe.”
The rookie grinned and made crinkles at the sides of his eyes. He started the ignition. Then he shook his head. “Hanwell has legs,” he said, marveling at the idea.
I smacked him on the shoulder.
Then we were off. We followed the coastline south, and I just let the view and the wind flow past me for a while.
“I won’t be drinking tonight, by the way,” I said, “so I can be your designated driver.”
“Want to keep your wits about you, huh?”
“Something like that.”
“Well, it’s fine if you change your mind. I never get drunk. I can drink all day and never feel it.”
I gave him a look, like, Please. “I could drink you under the table, pal.”
“I’d like to see you try.”
I leaned back against the headrest and let the wind flutter my hair. “Have you decided what you’re going to tell your parents about me?”
He nodded. “I thought of a perfect sentence, actually.”
“Hit me.”
“When they say, ‘Where’s Amy?’ I’ll say: ‘She couldn’t make it, but I brought a friend.’”
“That’s actually genius. It’s not even lying. Distract and redirect.”