AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I ignore both his statement and his question. “Why were you lurking outside Bailey’s apartment?”
“I wasn’tlurking. I was taking a walk.”
“At this hour? In the woods? Walking by Bailey’s apartment door?”
Her hands glide up my back until they rest just below my shoulders, warm and firm. My muscles start to loosen, little by little. But not fully. Because there will be no relaxing until we’renot having a conversation in almost pitch-black with a guy who takes midnight strolls past Bailey’s apartment door.
“That’s his place,” she whispers, pointing.
I glance over, keeping Jesse in view, to see the next apartment down. Okay, so maybe he has reason to pass her apartment. I still don’t like it.
Especially not when he asks, with venom in his voice, “Wait—are you two dating?”
We might be getting married, I think. But I don’t say that. And the press of Bailey’s hands on my back sends a signal that she’s got this. At least, I hope I’m reading this correctly.
“It’s late,” Bailey says softly. Much more kindly than I would. “Goodnight, Jesse.”
“Fine,” he grumbles. “I’ll see you around, I guess.”
I watch until he’s back in his apartment. Bailey’s hands remain on my back until the lock engages, her palms slowly tracking back and forth. I like them there. She steadies me, and right now, I need a bit of steadying.
This has been a long night. I feel a little like Bailey’s purse: tipped over with everything inside me knocked loose and scattered.
“I don’t want you staying here.” This probably shouldn’t be the first thing I say when I release her hip and turn to face her. Already I miss the warm comfort of her hands on my back.
Her eyes narrow. “What?”
I tip my chin toward the broken light above her door, then the one that should light the walkway. “It’s not safe.”
“Ilivehere,” she says, defensiveness edging through her voice.
“Maybe you shouldn’t.”
She sets her jaw and crosses her arms. But her eyes don’t match the rigid posture. She looks like she’s about to cry.
“This is what I can afford,” she says, lifting her chin, and it breaks me a little because I recognize the look.
For years, Mom raised me and my sister, Annie, in apartments like this. Ones with little to no security, near busy roads, with arguments you could hear outside. Without any support from my biological dad and none from family, Mom did the best she could. Annie and I knew we didn’t have a lot, but Mom made life as big and as fun as she could for us, keeping the worries and stresses I know she felt locked-up tight.
The thing about kids, though, is they know. Maybe not the specifics. But Annie and I picked up on her body language, her moods. We recognized the exhaustion behind her bright smiles and didn’t miss the way bills sometimes piled up or the pantry and fridge emptied out. It didn’t help that I picked an expensive sport.
I promised myself that if I ever went pro, I’d take care of Mom. Annie too, though she doesn’t want my help and prefers making her own way. It took some time because not all my contracts were super lucrative, but finally, because of my investments and because of the Appies, Mom and I are in a good place.
I find myself wanting to wrap Bailey up in that same protection. Not just because of the whole marriage thing. I can recognize this as a separate longing, a need to keep her safe. Tonight, Bailey has gone from acquaintance to actual friend. A very pretty friend. And once people move into my circle of friendship, I can’t help but want to move them into my circle of protection too.
I can also recognize how hard it can be to accept help, the sense of pride that comes from wanting to do it all alone. Of not wanting to seem weak and helpless while also being desperate for a hand.
I take a few beats to consider my words, crossing my arms over my chest. The temperature is finally starting to get to me. Probably because a light breeze just picked up, reminding me of how inappropriately I’m dressed for late fall in the mountains. The longer I wait, the longer I’m keeping Bailey out here too. She has a coat, but her nightgown isn’t meant for discussing potential marriage proposals outside in these temperatures.
“Do you remember what you said in the car?” I ask.
Slowly, Bailey nods. “Yes.”
“Did you mean it?”
Rather than answer, Bailey crouches down and starts shoveling things back into her purse. Something I wish I’d thought to do for her. I retrieve the lipstick that’s still near my foot. I squint to read the color name, curious what Bailey’s color is. Immediately, I feel stupid for checking. Also, it’s too dark to see.
When Bailey stands, turning to face me, I can’t read her expression any better than I could the lipstick label. Wordlessly, I hold it out to her. She hesitates, and when she finally reaches for it, her fingers brushing mine, I close my other hand around both of ours. Holding her there.
