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Again, Parker laughs. I will make up stupid hand holding names all. Night. Long.
Now I link our fingers the way they were before. “This, of course, is the Classic.”
I’m running out of ideas, which means running out of time. We’re about thirty seconds from our apartments. And I’m not ready.
I manage to come up with a few bizarre other hand holds. There’s the Backhand, where you—shocker—press the backs of your hands together. The Around the World, in which you hold the hands-on opposite sides of your body. The Brady Bunch, where all four hands link together.
“This is the Scarf,” I say to a giggling Parker. Draping one hand over her shoulder, I wiggle my fingers until she lifts the hand closest to me and links our fingers.
“Wow,” Parker says. “All these years, I had no idea what I’ve been missing out on.”
“You learn something new every day, Pete. But don’t go sharing these with justanyone.”
More like: don’t go share these withany other person at all.
“So, do you have a favorite?” I ask.
Parker slips her hand in mine, linking our fingers. “The Classic. You?”
I run my thumb over the back of her hand. “Same.”
She smiles but then starts walking again. Disappointment is a swift kick to the gut. But she doesn’t let go of my hand, so at least there’s that.
Holding hands, I’ve decided, is severely underrated.
The night was pleasant when we left, but there’s a chill in the air now, and I can feel Parker shiver. This time, I know it’s not from happiness. I pull her closer. She lets me, and I don’t miss her tiny sigh.
Words gather into a flash mob in my brain. Too many things I want to say. Too many things I probably shouldn’t say.
Now,I’mthe quiet one.
We reach the door, and I manage to finagle the keys without dropping my arm from Parker’s shoulders. When the door opens without so much as a protest, Parker looks up at me.
“I meant to ask you before—did you do something to the door? It hasn’t been sticking. I wasn’t sure if that was just because the temperatures are dropping or if you did something.”
She narrows her eyes at me, like the idea of me sneakily fixing a broken door is akin to stealing Halloween candy from little kids.
She’s smart to be suspicious. I hired a guy to fix the door, unbeknownst to Parker or the owner of the building. “Maybe.”
She shakes her head. “You got me Fancy Chair. You fixed my door.”
“Now it’sourdoor.”
“Ourdoor. And you teach me all the secret hand-holds I’ve been missing out on all these years. You’re really something, Logan.”
Her tone is light. But I glance her way when we’re about halfway up the stairs, and her eyes are bright. Like she’s trying to keep tears from spilling over. At the landing, I pull her into a hug, dropping my chin on top of her head. I don’t know what’s going on in her head, but if it’s anything like the confusion in my own, it’s a lot.
I can onlyhopeit’s something like what’s going on in my head.
Parker’s hands slide underneath my jacket, fisting the fabric of my shirt as she burrows into me. There’s an edge of desperation in this hug.
It’s nice to feel needed by someone. Especially by someone I know would be there for me as well. I might be almost thirty, but I really have no one like this in my life. And it’s only since I’ve come back to Harvest Hollow that I’ve realized how much I’ve been missing real connection.
Parker sighs, and I run a hand up and down her back. “Hey. Are you okay?”
I can feel her nodding against my chest. “I’m perfect. This night was perfect.”
Almostperfect.
