Page 61 of Halo

“I've got you.” He laughs. “I'm not letting go.”

He spins me beneath his arm, my skirt fanning around my legs as a warm breeze catches loose strands of my braid. The force of the turn leaves me laughing so hard my cheeks ache. When my gaze finds his again, he's already smiling back at me before spinning me back across the dance floor.

The final note lingers in the evening air, and I find myself wishing for just one more verse. Judging by the way Nick makes no move to let me go, I don't think I'm the only one.

We stand there, our fingers still intertwined as the air around us hums with unspoken words. His gaze drops to my lips before finding my eyes again. He slowly leans in.

My eyes flutter closed.

His hands slide to my arms.

And then he walks away.

***

Sorting through the remaining fruit and vegetable trays, I give everything a quick rinse in the sink before transferring it into plastic containers.

“Now, Leah, I told you to leave that alone.” Chelsea nudges me with her hip as she sets a large bowl of macaroni salad on the counter.

“I don't mind.” I snap a lid into place. “Besides, it scratches a weird itch in my brain.”

She snorts. “Weirdo.”

I grin. “Accurate.”

Truth be told, I've been foolishly waiting for Nick to come back. To tell me he wanted to check his breath, that he left his truck running, that he got called away to save someone's life ... anything.

But he's avoided me. He's chatting with his friends and playing with his son—which are all incredibly important things he should do … but I just wish I knew why I couldn't be a part of it as well.

It hurts my feelings. I'd almost rather he show no interest at all than leave me wondering like this. Believe it or not, I appreciate my singleness. Everyone else seems determined to fix it. My family quietly roots for a reconciliation with my ex while my friends and coworkers treat my love life like a community service project. Me? I'm content—just don't hand me hope if you have no intention of holding onto it.

I open the refrigerator—and frown. “Hey, Chels, I've run out of room.”

She peeks in behind me. “Ay Díos …” she hisses. “How did this happen? I swear all the food we had today came from this fridge. How does it not fit?”

I chuckle. “It's like the feeding of the five thousand.”

“The what?”

“You know? When Jesus fed five thousand people on just a few loaves of bread and fish … the food kept multiplying until everyone had their fill.”

“What in the David Copperfield?” She laughs. “Jesus could've had a residency in Vegas.”

I snort. “Turning water into wine could've been his first act.”

“Hey! Dinner and a show!” We giggle with one another as she nudges me with her elbow. “Alright, preacher’s kid, let's grab the cokes, and we'll move them into the garage fridge.”

We load our arms with packs of soft drinks and hobble to the garage. We play a game of Tetris with the drinks, and after a few failed attempts, we manage to get everything to fit.

A knock at the door interrupts us.

“Hey,” Nick starts, a sleepy Grady at his side. “We're going to head out. I just wanted to say g'night.”

“Drive safe,” I reply politely before turning my attention to the refrigerator, suddenly finding the arrangement of cans absolutely fascinating.

It's childish—I know it is, but what is the alternative? I'm not okay with this push and pull.

Silence settles in the room, and I can tell Nick hasn't left yet. When I finally glance up, Chelsea is contorting her face in various expressions like a secret code.