Chapter Ten #7
Wow. I hadn’t really thought of that . . . but he was right. “Agreed,” I said. “That’s so true. Culturally significant objects shouldn’t be for sale.”
The fact he thought like that made me like him just that little bit more. Which, at this point, was quite the feat. I was beginning to wonder if it was possible to like him more than I already did.
“I mean,” I said with my hand to my heart. “If it was a first edition Catcher in the Rye or Fahrenheit 451, I could see myself wanting to keep it. Maybe. But if it was a first edition Shakespeare, it should be in a museum.”
Deacon nodded, giving me a timid smile, but then a smell began to waft . . .
A pungent, sour, rotten smell.
“Oh, Mildred,” Deacon said. “No.”
Oh, sweet merciful gods.
Mildred had the audacity to smile at us. Deacon took my sleeve again and pulled me up off the couch, and the last thing I saw was Wayne, with his shirt pulled up over his nose, ushering Mildred to the back door.
Vicky evacuated to the kitchen with us. “Sorry about that,” she said.
All I could do was laugh. And laugh.
“It’s fine,” I said.
“No it’s not,” Deacon said. “What did she eat this afternoon? Did she get into the trash again?”
Vicky laughed, and Deacon turned to me. “I’m very sorry.”
I was still chuckling. “It’s fine. I should get going though.
I better get home and save Ro from my two little monsters.
” I turned to Vicky. “Thank you for having me over for dinner. I had a lovely time.” Wayne was still supervising Mildred, giving her a stern talking to.
“Please tell Wayne I said thank you, and I’ll brush up on my knowledge of antiques and put up a better fight next time. ”
“I will,” she said gently. “We’ll see you again.”
“Yes, you will,” I said surely. Then I turned to Deacon. “Walk me out?”
He gave a nod and held my coat for me while I pulled on my shoes, then he helped me into it. “You still use the scarf I gave you,” he said when I pulled it out of my coat pocket.
“Of course I do. I love it.” I put the scarf on and gave him a smile. “I had a lovely time tonight. Thank you for inviting me.”
His cheeks went pink. “You’re welcome. I’m sorry about Mildred.”
I laughed again and put my hand on the door handle but didn’t open it yet. “I’d love to do this again. I really enjoy spending time with you.”
“I enjoy spending time with you too,” he whispered, his eyes more gray than blue tonight.
“Next time you can come to my place, if you want. No pressure. Or we could try the diner? Whatever you want.”
His brow furrowed for a second before he nodded. “Dinner with your friends,” he murmured. “This week sometime? You invited me.”
“I did.”
“I’d like to go with you.”
I was waiting for the but . . . There wasn’t one.
“You will?” I tried not to act so surprised, but I hadn’t expected that at all. “Awesome. I’ll ask Gunter if they’ve made any final plans and let you know.”
He gave a nod. “Okay.”
I lifted my hand and stopped just short of touching his arm. If it was any other date with any other person, I’d have touched his arm without thinking. Hell, if it was anyone else, I might have even given him a kiss on the cheek.
But it wasn’t. It was Deacon.
I pulled my hand back. “Sorry.”
He looked at my hand and swallowed hard. “You can touch my arm,” he whispered.
“It’s fine,” I said. “Habit I’m trying to break.”
“I think . . . I want you to.”
He wanted me to touch his arm?
“You want me to?”
“Yes.” He gave one nod, his gaze on the wall, and he kind of held his arm out as if he was steeling himself for contact.
So I very slowly, very carefully lifted my hand again, and this time I gently put my palm on his forearm. I gave the barest of squeezes before I took my hand away.
My heart was hammering, and I think I’d forgotten to breathe. “Goodnight, Deacon,” I murmured.
He nodded again, blushing, staring intently at the wall. “Yes. Goodnight, Winter.”
I opened the door then and rushed to my car. My insides were a jumbled ball of nerves and excitement, and I was still grinning when I got home.
Merry and Bright were snoozing in their pen by the fire, and Ro was curled up on the couch with a blanket and a book. She glanced at the clock. “Oh, you’re home early.”
I walked in, plonked myself down beside her on the couch, and sighed dreamily.
“I take it dinner went well,” she said.
I turned my head so I could meet her gaze. “Yep.”
She smiled. “You really like him, huh?”
That little ember behind my ribs, of something warm and lovely, burned a little warmer. “Yeah, I do. He held my sleeve.”
“He what?”
“He held my sleeve. Here,” I said, holding out my wrist and showing her how Deacon had grabbed my sleeve. “Like this. And he led me to his room. And again when Mildred gassed the room, but this. This is the sweetest, most romantic thing ever.”
“Mildred gassed the what? Is that . . . is that his Grandma?”
“No, their dog.”
She grimaced. “Oh.”
“He led me by the sleeve to his room, Ro,” I said.
She raised her eyebrow. “Okay, so anyone else and I’d be asking for details but you going to a guy’s bedroom raises more questions than answers.”
“He showed me his bookcase.”
She snorted. “Wow. So that’s like second base for you.”
I ignored that. “And their bookcase in their house is one entire wall, floor to ceiling. And the house is all warm greens and browns. Imagine if Bilbo Baggins owned Belle’s library.”
She squinted and tilted her head as she tried to picture that. “Uhhh.”
“My sleeve, Ro,” I said, holding up my arm again and getting back to the important part. “His sleeve-holding is my newest favorite thing ever.”