Page 82 of Charlotte

His scars were pale in the morning light. The two damaged fingers bent stiffly where winter had taken what it wanted. His palm was broad and rough, warm from holding her, stronger than he believed.

Lottie looked at his hand long enough for him to know she saw it, then she lifted her eyes to his.

“I know there is a story here,” she said softly. “You do not have to tell it to me today.”

His throat worked once.

“You do not have to hide your hand from me either.” She kept her fingers wrapped gently through his. “When you are ready to speak of it, I will listen.”

For one suspended moment, the bustle of Main Street seemed to move around them instead of between them.

Peterson looked at her mouth. Lottie’s breath caught. He leaned closer, slowly enough she could have stepped back if she wished. She did not. His shadow fell across her bonnet brim, and his hand tightened once around hers, not in fear this time.

Then his gaze shifted past her shoulder. He reached behind her with his left hand and lifted the fallen bunting from the boardwalk.

Lottie blinked.

The corner of his mouth moved. “You dropped this.”

She stared at him for one heartbeat, then laughed, breathless and unsteady. “So, I did.”

He released his hand and grabbed the bunting from the other side and offered it to her with his right hand. Lottie thought she might swoon—it mattered almost as much as the almost-kiss.

She took the bunting from him, letting her fingers brush his scarred palm without apology. “Will you hang it for me after all?”

He looked from the cloth to her face and nodded.

“As high as you can reach,” she added. “Which is considerably higher than I can. I shall call it my idea of beautiful, even if the swag is square.”

His mouth twitched. “Now a square is allowed?”

“I have reconsidered.”

“Because you nearly fell.”

“Because I was caught by the right hands.”

Peterson went quiet. The words had reached him. She saw that much and left them there. A man like Peterson did not need every tenderness explained until it lost its shape.

He took the bunting from her.

This time, Lottie remained on the boardwalk while he climbed only one rung and stretched easily to the lintel. He set the nail with his left hand and braced the cloth with his right. The motion was awkward, but sure. He glanced at the hand once, then fixed the bunting in place.

The swag was not quite graceful.

It was not exactly square either.

It was strong, high, and true.

Lottie loved it.

Mrs. Beck clasped her hands from the street. “Oh, that is lovely.”

Mrs. Hanford studied the display. “Respectable.”

Mrs. Schulte made a mark on her list. “The meeting hall is a contender.”

Peterson stepped down from the ladder and looked up at his work. “It’ll hold.”