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So I’d stayed. The Astor in me, Dad’s lessons of going the extra mile, of doing my best no matter what, kept me trying despite my beastly boss and the whispered things the other women said under their breaths every time I passed.
“In that case, I’m going to remember that the rumors were your fault,” I said.
“Part of me wishes I’d never stopped paying attention to you.”
I went rigid. My mind filled with cotton.
“And the other part?” I practically whispered.
He peered at me, his eyes pained, his expression unreadable. “The other part knows I shouldn’t be stupid enough to give in.”
Duncan’s admissions were aligning with something inside of me, something I wasn’t sure I was ready to confront yet. What was he talking about?
What wasIthinking? I shouldn’t wish he’d paid more attention to me. I shouldn’t wish his confession didn’t hurt so much.
But I did. I wanted things to be different between us. I wanted to be closer to him.
Why did he think that would be a problem? I wasn’t with Pete anymore. I couldn’t see what was holding him back.
“What do you mean?” I asked. “Why would giving in be stupid?”
He thumbed through another stack of t-shirts, selecting a black one bearing the town’s name. He took the pink one I held and made his way toward the register without another word.
I trembled from head to toe. It was a sensation I wasn’t used to. I couldn’t make sense of what was going on.
Duncan had asked to date me before we’d even left Vermont. But I hadn’t taken him seriously for a second. I never would have believed he cared that much for me.
But now?
In his humility, in this weird bubble of openness and confusion we’d blown around ourselves, he was acting more genuinely than I’d ever seen him. From the sound of things, from these heated interactions we kept having, heliked me.
Like,likeliked me.
The realization threw me more than if I’d been struck with a baseball to the head. The rumors, the stolen glances, the request to be something more…
He’d meant it ALL.
He paid for the t-shirts and waited for me to join him by the door.
“Something tells me my grandma wouldn’t appreciate a souvenir t-shirt,” he said.
I tucked my hair behind my ear. “Yeah,” I said. “Let’s keep looking.”
Fluttering tingled through me. We walked up the street together, all while a new awareness of him strung through me. Inoticed every step he took. The way his hand swayed at his side, begging me to take it. The scraping of his shoes on the pavement.
More than sight, though, Isensedhim there, his warmth, his presence. I glanced at him several times, and every time, he returned the attention with that same unreadable expression. Yet, there was warmth in his eyes, too, warmth and shared secrets, something valuable and new and so unexpected it hit me like a wave every time.
I tried keeping my attention on the shop signs. One store gave me enough pause that I stopped for a closer look. Hats of every shape and size filled the window display, and in elegant writing above the door were the wordsLe Chapeau: Hats and Haberdashery.
“Le Chapeau?” Duncan pronounced the words differently than I would have.Sha-poe. “That means ‘hat’ in French. Let’s go in here.”
“Okay.” I was eager for the distraction from the twists and turns in our conversation.
The minute we entered, I was instantly enchanted. Below a decadent Tiffany-style lamp made of pieced glass in every color, stately stands laden with hats created a maze. Hats were sorted by style, many of which I’d seen before but didn’t know the names of.
Men’s hats lined glass counters and were in shelved displays on the walls, while the women’s hats each claimed its own peg on the stands.
This was a forest all its own, a forest of color and style. I had the sudden urge to play dress-up, to try every single hat on and see how each accentuated my face.
