Page 81 of Charlotte

Peterson held Lottie as if the rest of the town had disappeared.

Then she felt his right hand.

The hidden one.

It was spread firm against her back, stiff fingers bracing her every bit as surely as his left arm did. He had forgotten to guard it. There had been no time for shame when she was falling, no spare breath for hiding. He had caught her with both hands because she needed to be caught.

Lottie did the only thing she could do—she let him.

She did not stiffen or glance down. She did not make his hand into a subject between them when all it had done was hold her safe.

Instead, she lifted her face to his, breathless and near laughter, and said, “Well caught, Mr. Peterson.”

His eyes searched hers.

She smiled, though her heart was still misbehaving. “I knew you would never let me fall.”

That was when he realized.

She felt the change in him through his arms. His right hand began to draw back, the old instinct rising before he had time to command it. He expected her to notice. Worse, he expected her to mind.

Lottie kept her hands resting against his coat and looked only at him.

The retreat stopped.

Not fully. Not easily.

It stopped.

Peterson stood in the middle of Main Street with Lottie in his arms and his damaged hand still pressed to her back. She could feel the effort it cost him not to snatch it away.

“You ought to be more careful,” he said.

The words were gruff. His voice was not.

“I am occasionally careful.”

“No.”

“It happens.”

“No, it does not.”

“My sister may have influenced your opinion.”

“Your sister has evidence.”

Lottie laughed then, softly, because he sounded so shaken and so himself she could not help it.

He set her down gently.

Her boots met the boardwalk. His left hand dropped away first. His right hand lingered a moment longer against her back, as if he had not quite remembered to be ashamed of it again.

Then he drew it away. Lottie caught his hand before he could hide it.

Peterson stilled.

She did not grip him tightly. She folded her fingers carefully around his, letting them rest between the whole fingers and the shortened ones as if his hand had every right to fit with hers. Then she looked down at their joined hands.