Page 10 of Hidden With You

ChapterFour

Iwatch as he moves closer, and I try to hide my smile. It’s hard, though. After all, he’s here, isn’t he? As if my will drew him to me. As if I have magical powers that allow me to bend the world to my liking.

I almost laugh at the thought, because god knows, if I had such powers, my life would be so very, very different. Still, he’s here, just like I’d imagined he would be, and my body sizzles in anticipation.

At first, I wasn’t sure he was going to stay, but now that he’s made the decision, I wait for him to come to me. To say something else. But he’s silent now, and though he crossed to the middle of the room, he hasn’t come any closer.

He’s waiting for me.

The realization is delicious, like he’s candy-coated a perfectly choreographed romance wherein I slide off this bench, our eyes meet, and I walk confidently into his arms, both of us meeting halfway.

But that’s not what I do.

Instead, I stay right where I am. I might crave those fantasies, but I know better than most that the only place we can live in is reality.

And in this, he needs to come to me. Because how else can I know that this moment is real and not something I’m rewriting in my imagination?

I wait, my chest tight with anticipation, but he doesn’t come any closer, and the uncertainty is almost painful. Has he stopped because he doesn’t want what I want? Or has he stopped because my fantasy is also his, and he’s waiting for me to come to him, and we’ll both stay firmly rooted despite desire, like two lovers in an O’Henry short story?

I’m writing our dialogue in my head, trying to see where any possible thread could lead, when his voice, low and steady, fills the room. “Tell me why you’re really here.”

My brows rise in genuine surprise at the question. “I thought we were past all that. If we’re going back to the beginning, shouldn’t you start with hello?”

“Hello,” he says. “Why are you here?”

“I told you. I wanted to be alone.”

“And yet you invited me to stay. So why are you really here when the party in your honor is out there?”

I wait a moment to answer, mostly so that I’m certain the delight I’m feeling won’t escape in the form of a laugh. I’m not entirely sure why I’m so delighted—maybe because he’s asking the very question I want to avoid. Maybe because the question makes clear that he actually sees me. That I’m not just some ghost floating through the moment. Whatever the reason, his question fills me up. But at the same time, I don’t want to answer it, so I parry with a question of my own. “Does it really matter?”

He takes a step forward. Just eighteen inches or so, but my entire body tenses in anticipation. “No. I guess it doesn’t.”

He takes two more steps. Thirty-six inches. An entire yard that had been separating us now gone.

“I’m not a people person,” I say, but whether I’m answering his question or commenting on his increasing proximity, I really can’t say. Probably the latter. Ironic, I suppose. After all, while I’d been outside of this glassed-in bubble, I’d done more than my usual share of fantasizing about this stranger’s touch. Now that he’s almost close enough to make that fantasy come true, my insides are all twisted up.

I thought I knew what I wanted.

Now, I just know that I want. And I’m nervous as hell about getting it.

“Not a people person,” he repeats, and I find I can’t take my eyes off his mouth. It’s wide, with full lips of deep red that accentuate his white teeth. It’s an expressive mouth, too. I notice that much when his lips curve down into a frown. “I’m surprised,” he says, and I have to play back the conversation in my head to remember what we were talking about.

“Why? You hardly know me.”

“So let’s get to know each other. As for the why, I saw you out there. Moving through the guests, you and Jamie talking to your adoring public.”

I have to laugh at that. “Jamie’s the one the public adores, and she adores them right back.”

“You don’t?”

“I love my readers. But being the center of attention? It’s not my happy place. Really,” I add, seeing the disbelief on his face. “I probably should have been an actress, because I can pretend with the best of them, but no. Bamboo under the fingernails would be a much better pastime.”

“Then you really are an excellent actress.”

He crosses the rest of the way, then sits on the bench beside me. We both shift so that we’re facing each other, and when our knees brush, I’m suddenly, acutely, sensually aware of how close he is. Very, very much inside my personal bubble.

“As far as I could tell, you were perfectly at ease in that crowd,” he continues.