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I want to repeat the question. Or ask another. I’ve got a whole line of questions. But I just stand here like a dummy, keeping her in place. Bailey’s hand feels so small in mine, her skin soft. I stroke my thumb over her knuckles, seeing her shiver in response. Or … maybe it’s just the fact that it’s cold and she’s in a nightgown.
She’s much too slow to answer. Which is probably an answer in and of itself. I’m shocked by the bitter taste of disappointment. I barely had time to even hope. And what, exactly, was I really hopefulabout?
I release her hand and the lipstick, then step back. “I’ll just?—”
“Yes,” Bailey says. “I meant it.”
She pauses, as though giving her words a moment to land. They do.
My pulse kicks up and I swallow fast. Bailey really offered—she actually said—she’d be willing to … marry me?
The quick thrill is steamrolled almost immediately by a whole host of questions and worries. Things that I hadn’t thought to consider becausemarrying a woman I barely knowwasn’t really a consideration.
I say nothing, my brain firing too fast to corral words into any kind of order.
“I have a lot of questions, and there are a lot of things we should probably discuss,” Bailey continues. “But … yes. If you need someone to do this so you can stay, so your mom can stay, I’ll be that person for you, Eli.”
The light breeze chooses this moment to really pick up, blowing my muumuu well higher than feels appropriate. Even if I do have on shorts underneath. They’re the only shorts I had in my car, and they’reshort. Even in the dim light, my legs are ghostly white.
Fantastic. I tug down the hem, and Bailey coughs, trying and failing to hide a giggle.
“Okay,” I say, agreeing with a stupid, two-syllable word to something life-alteringly large.
“Okay.” Bailey’s smile is stolen by another yawn. “Can we talk tomorrow?”
“My phone’s in the car, but I can give you my number?”
This feels so backwards, giving Bailey my phone numberafter she’s just agreed to marry me.Marry me. The words are electric, jolting me every time the idea moves through my mind. It’s not a wholly unpleasant feeling, which surprises me.
Should I hug her goodnight? Kiss her on the cheek? I don’t know how to end an accidental, sort-of first date involving a platonic marriage agreement.
I hold out my hand. Stupidly.
Bailey glances down at it for a moment before shaking it. Once. Firmly. Like we’ve just made some kind of bet. I’m grateful for the darkness covering the flush I’m sure has risen in my cheeks. Her smile is highly amused, but then softens to something a little more tender.
“Thank you,” she says. “For worrying about me. Jesse’s harmless, but?—”
“Is he?”
She nods. “Yes. A little odd, and sometimes a bit snappy. But he’s all bark. No bite. Not unlike Roscoe.”
I grin at this. Roscoe is one of the first dogs I remember meeting. He’s still there, so I get to say hi every so often. Apparently, it’s hard to find someone to adopt a dog with no teeth. Especially when he hates everyone on sight—except me, whom he only just tolerates. He still growls and gums the heck out of me. I know if he had teeth, he would use them.
“I like Roscoe better,” I say, and Bailey laughs.
“You and me both.” I glance back toward Jesse’s apartment again, imagining him on the other side, ear pressed to the door.
“He won’t bother me,” Bailey says. “I’m safe. I’ll be fine.”
I don’t argue. But nothing about this situation feelssafeorfine. “Okay.”
“Thank you for making my night so special,” she says. “Best birthday ever.”
“Really?”
“Really.” Bailey smiles, then turns away, unlocking her door.
I want to go inside first, just to check and make sure it’s safe. To open closet doors and crouch to look under the bed. Test the windows. Lock every door.
