AllFreeNovel
Share Us
You did this with Tom yesterday. It’s just a palm and five fingers.
I tentatively take his hand. “Ready.”
It would have been more convincing if my voice hadn’t wavered, but if he noticed, he doesn’t comment. Instead, he smiles broadly as his long fingers close over mine, firm but not too tight as he leads me to his truck.
“Hi, Charlie,” one of the girls calls from the backseat.
“Charlie, this is Avery,” he points to the one behind the driver’s seat, then to the other, “and this is Addison.” Both girls have blond hair hanging down their backs and steel-blue eyes just like their uncle's. They’re dressed in jeans and matching pink tee shirts, identical right down to their pink and white sneakers.
I smile as I climb inside. “Nice to meet you. Blake said you were twins, but I didn’t realize you’d be identical. What’s the secret to telling you two apart?”
They both giggle.
Blake grins. “I bought them necklaces,” he says, moving one girl’s hair aside to reveal a leather necklace with a wire-wrapped pale pink stone. “Addy’s is rose quartz. Avery’s is turquoise.”
I wink at the girls. “How do you know they don’t switch necklaces?”
“I –” he stops, staring between them. “Crap,” he mutters, and the girls giggle again.
The girl behind the driver’s seat leans forward and motions to me. “I’m Avery. Addison always wears pink nail polish to match her necklace. It’s her favorite color,” she whispers.
Addison. Pink. I file that tidbit away for later. “Thanks.”
Blake still looks unsettled when I straighten.
“I’m glad you’re coming today,” Avery says.
“I’m glad you invited me. I was cleaning out the refrigerator.” They laugh as I wrinkle my nose.
“This will be way more fun,” Addison insists.
The mini-golf course is fifteen minutes away, and conversation is minimal since Blake has let the girls select the music. Angsty emo music is the soundtrack today. He smiles apologetically, but I grin and shrug. I’m used to it from spending time with Maya and Skyler. When he reaches for my hand again, I don’t flinch. Instead, I place our joined hands on my lap, my own hand resting on my thigh.
I smile. Being affectionate with Tom does make holding hands with Blake less scary. Still, my opposing emotional reactions when I thought he was going to kiss me have me baffled. Relief and disappointment? Shouldn’t I just feel one or the other? My confusion consumes me for the rest of the drive.
We have a blast playing mini-golf. Avery and I play for fun, but Blake and Addison are extremely competitive, trash-talking each other at every turn. Addison wins by a single stroke after Blake mysteriously struggles on the last hole. I cock an eyebrow at him when the girls aren’t watching.
“I just couldn’t get past that windmill,” he winks. We return to the arcade, where he challenges them to several rounds of video games, this time losing to Avery at the last second. No wonder they adore him. The man intentionally boosts every female’s confidence.
We stop at the cupcake shop near his house to pick up dessert. The dark-haired beauty at the counter flirts with Blake nonstop, and he doesn’t discourage it. My jealousy flares as I watch their teasing rapport, but not because of any imagined claim I have on Blake. I’m envious of her, of how flirting comes so naturally to her. I’d give anything to be that comfortable around men.
Blake’s house is like many in this area, craftsman-style with warm woodwork throughout. He leads me inside, and the girls race past me to go upstairs and change. The walls in his entry are cream-colored and lined with wooden shelves filled with unique pieces. Blake takes the cupcakes to the kitchen while I examine the items on his shelves. One entire section is dedicated to hammered metal bowls of assorted sizes, some with wooden mallets that resemble pestles.
“Tibetan singing bowls,” he offers from the doorway, then enters. He takes one down, and I note the intricate pattern on the inside of the bowl. He strikes the bowl with the mallet, producing a smooth tone that reverberates through the entry. He follows by rubbing the wood against the rim of the bowl in a circular motion, producing a higher pitch that makes my eardrums feel all quivery. “The wavelength of the vibrations affects the same part of the brain where soothing music triggers relaxation. These bowls are used to help people achieve a meditative state.”
Interspersed among the bowls are strings of beads from various semi-precious stones. I reach for a beautiful strand near me made of pale green stones flecked with darker forest green, but stop myself before touching them. “Prayer beads,” Blake says. “Those are made of aventurine. Each strand has one hundred and eight beads. Some forms of meditation combine breathing and recitations. The beads let them keep track.” He tips his head. “You can touch them.”
“I didn’t want to be disrespectful.”
“You can touch anything you want to, Beautiful,” he purrs. His rakish grin makes his meaning clear. “In fact, I strongly encourage it.”
The air whooshes from my lungs, and I spiral from comfortable to panicky in the space of a single heartbeat. I take one slow deep breath and step away from him, moving toward a hanging display of metal gongs, painfully aware of his gaze. I realize too late I've boxed myself into the corner of his foyer. My spine stiffens as my eyes flash to the front door.
Blake’s eyes haven’t left me. Without a word, he steps forward and away, deliberately opening a space between us to create a clear exit path for me.
Rather than calming me, his actions ignite a deep frustration. He’s walking on eggshells, constantly assessing my labile emotional state and adjusting course, trying not to inadvertently set me off. Watching it unfold in real time reinforces what I already knew. Normal women don’t have panic attacks in parking lots or scope out escape routes for dinner with a hot guy and his twin nieces. Blake deserves someone he can be himself with.
“I bought that gong after a meditation retreat in Thailand,” he says, inclining his head toward the gong closest to me. His tone is nonchalant, but his eyes remain alert as he tries to redirect my attention. “Gongs are another form of therapeutic sound. That particular retreat focused on music as a path to achieving inner harmony.”
