Chapter Seven
It’s hard to focus on the movie with Oz seated next to me in the dark. What am I supposed to do with my hands? When I was sixteen, I would have kept one on the armrest between us, with my palm facing upward in a clear invitation to hold. But that seems ridiculously silly now.
And I’m not sure I even want to hold Oz’s hand.
Okay, that’s a big, fat lie. If I’m honest, he won me over when he was thoughtful enough to bring a blanket to our picnic lunch yesterday. And if that hadn’t been enough, reading his sweet note would have done the trick.
I read it so many times before I went to bed last night that I’ve practically memorized it.
And after today, when he jumped in to help me at the sandwich shop, there’s no going back. I’m falling for Oz all over again. Of course , I want to hold his hand.
When we leave the theater, it’s dark outside. The temperature has fallen several degrees. I wrap my arms around my body to warm up. Oz notices, immediately sliding out of his jacket to hand it to me.
I shake my head. “I can’t steal your coat.”
He makes a face. “You’re not stealing it. I’m offering it to you.”
“But then you’ll be cold,” I argue.
“Lindy…” he says, sounding impatient.
I shake my head again. “I’m a Mainer. I can handle the cold.”
He shoves a hand through his hair. “I don’t want you to have to handle anything. Just let me be a gentleman, okay?”
I open my mouth to argue some more, but then I see that his jaw is set. I know that face. There’s no changing his mind when he makes that face.
“Okay,” I relent. “Thank you.”
He holds the coat up so I can slide my arms into the sleeves. Instantly, I feel warmer. The coat is heavy, and it smells amazing. Like sandalwood, sharpened pencils, and rain showers. A vision of Oz running down a street in cold and rainy San Francisco with a stack of architect drawings under his arm pops into my head. I have no idea if it’s something he’s actually done, but I can picture it so clearly in my mind.
“Want to walk through the historical district to look at Jack-o’-lanterns?” he asks.
“Yes!” Every year, the city lines the sidewalks and fence rows in the historical district with hundreds of Jack-o’-lanterns. I love seeing them all lined up. Then I remember that I’m wearing Oz’s coat. “But only if you won’t be too cold,” I add quickly.
“You’re forgetting that I’m a Mainer, too,” Oz says, rolling his eyes. “And after all the hours we spent on your trampoline in the freezing cold, I’m impervious to the cold.”
My heart flutters in my chest. He remembers the trampoline… but does he remember the marriage pact? I’m more than ready to hold Oz’s hand… but am I ready to accept his hand in marriage?
No. Definitely not.
At least, I don’t think so. Not yet.
But maybe soon…?
As Oz and I walk through the historical district, we chat nonstop about everything from Hitchcock movies to favorite books to earthquakes. I’m thrilled to find that talking to him comes as easily as it did all those years ago. And he’s even more interesting now. In high school, he mostly wanted to talk about hockey and video games. Now, he’s an accomplished architect and businessman. He’s designed towering skyscrapers that will save lives in an earthquake. He’s a literal hero.
And Charley was right about him being better looking now than he was then. If I squint my eyes and tilt my head, I can still see the boy I loved beneath the gorgeous man he’s grown into. It’s unmistakable when he smiles.
When the subject turns to my favorite topic—pickles—I gush about how much I love to find unique flavor combinations. “I know it’s a ridiculous thing to be passionate about—”
“It’s not,” Oz assures me.
“Yes, it is. You design buildings that can withstand the forces of Mother Nature. All I do is feed people lunch.”
“You don’t just feed people, Lindy. You bring joy into their lives.”
He slides his hand into mine, entwining my fingers with his. I gasp at his touch, fogging the air with my breath.
“You’re one of a kind, Lindy Donovan,” Oz says, pulling me closer to him. With his free hand, he runs his fingers through my hair. At least, he tries to. They get caught in a tangle of knots.
I feel a blush creeping into my cheeks. Who ties knots in her hair? Maybe in addition to hiring staff for my business, I should schedule a haircut appointment. If I get a pixie cut, maybe I’ll be able to kick the stupid hair-knotting habit.
“One of a kind,” Oz says again, chuckling. He untangles his hand from my hair, moving it to my chin. Then he tilts my face toward his and lowers his lips to mine.
The kiss is gentle. Sweet. Everything I imagined it would be. Oz moves his hands to my lower back, pulling me against his chest. I wrap my arms around him, wanting to be as close to him as possible. He groans, deepening the kiss. His tongue slides over mine, sending a wave of heat through my entire body.
I never knew kissing could be this amazing. This magical. The rest of the world ceases to exist. There’s just Oz, me, and a hundred flickering Jack-o’-lanterns smiling in approval.