Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
THEO
“Let me carry your bag.”
“I can handle it,” Renley says as her shoulder bumps into mine while she attempts to lock up her store.
“Are you sure? I’m good at carrying things, like I’ve carried the conversation all night.”
She puts her keys in her bag and turns toward me. “You did not carry that entire conversation. I helped.”
“I’m unsure if you did.”
“Are you really going to start this walk arguing with me?”
“You know, I really don’t want to.”
“Then I suggest you come up with something else to say.”
“You’re right.” I think about it for a second as we head down the main street of town. “Maybe we talk about holding hands.”
“Wine has made you delusional. As if that’s something we’d actually do.”
“It could be. Have you tried it before?”
“Holding hands?” she asks as she wobbles up against me.
“Yes.”
“Of course I’ve held hands before.”
“But have you done it with your future husband?”
“Oh my God, you’re persistent.”
“Unfortunately for you, I am. Come on, just give it a try. Count to ten and then you can let go.”
“Are you going to bother me about it the entire walk home?”
“Absolutely,” I say.
Grumbling, she holds her hand out to me, and with a large smile on my face, I take it, connecting our palms together.
And like that, we continue to walk home. I count in my head up to ten. I do it really fast at first, but when she doesn’t let go, I count again, this time a little slower. When I reach ten and she’s still holding my hand, I count to ten once more.
And again.
And again. Until I realize that she’s holding my hand not because I asked but because perhaps she likes it.
I do use hand cream every day, so maybe she likes how soft my skin is. I don’t blame her. I’ve felt my hands—they’re nice. And as of late, my dick tends to agree as well.
Either way, I’m not going to make a big deal about it, even though I want to.
I want to pay for a billboard to point out that she’s holding my hand for longer than ten seconds.
I want to send out telegrams, letting everyone know that our palms matched up and it’s magic.
I want to put out an advert on the telly, with just the camera zeroed in on our connection and text saying, “Renley and Theo forever.”
Forever…that’s almost comical because do I actually think that?
I mean, I said I’d marry her, but I never thought about the duration. Is there a duration? A few months, years? Would we have children?
Whoa, the wine is obviously getting to me. Maybe I need to slow down on the thinking.
We stroll down the footpath together, hand in hand, the light posts casting a soft glow across the road, while the faint sound of people at the harbor bar filters through the quiet night air.
It’s disappointing to think that Cape Meril’s townspeople would rather pass judgment than help one another out. That’s not usually what you get with a small town.
And what made Renley and Kitty town enemy number one?
They don’t seem to welcome any drama…well, Renley doesn’t. Kitty, on the other hand, does add a bit of spice to the equation.
“Do you see the store on the corner right there?” Renley asks, drawing me out of my thoughts.
“The candle store?”
“Yeah, it used to be a toy store. I loved going into it because there were unique toys inside that you wouldn’t find anywhere else.
And there was this whole section in the back that was made for imaginative play.
I’d spend hours back there, just playing with the toys, building with their tool set.
I got to play with toys that my dad couldn’t afford.
It was magical, but when I was ten, the owners decided to move and the shop went up for auction to the town.
There were bids placed and ideas proposed, and the candle store won out. ”
“Seems boring compared to a toy store.”
“It is, but they selected it because it was something they knew tourists would buy into. When you think of a souvenir from a rich town, an expensive three-wick candle is high on that list.”
“I know my mum has brought home a candle or two from her holidays.”
“See?” Her shoulders slouch in disappointment. “They completely gutted the store; there isn’t an ounce of what it used to be. I refuse to go in there.”
“Consider the store dead to me as well. Candles, pffft, how lame.”
“The lamest.”
“Try being creative. If we were closer, I’d spit on its front step.”
“I believe you would.”
“Because that’s what true loyalty is. Spitting on things for the people you care about.”
“Care about?” she asks, leaning back to look at me. “Would you say you care about me?”
“Yeah, I would,” I answer without skipping a beat. “I’ve gotten to know you a little over the past week or so, so I’d say there’s a general care there, and not because of everything on the back end, you know, the proposal, et cetera.”
“You’re saying it’s just…me you care about?
” She looks up at me through her long, dark lashes, and for a slice of time, I allow myself to truly take her in.
Her heart-shaped face, the freckles scattered across the bridge of her nose and under her cheeks.
Her bottom lip that’s fuller than her upper lip, almost as if someone has been allowed to tug on it.
Her stunning eyes that glitter under the moonlight, and the slight swoop in her upturned nose that gives her this almost innocent quality.
She’s beautiful.
Pair that with her willingness to joke around, her tenacity, and her hard work…well, it makes her quite the catch.
Incredibly appealing.
Like someone I’d consider asking out.
I clear my throat and look her in the eyes. “Yeah, it’s you that I care about.”
The air around us grows thick as she stares up at me, the corner of her lips slightly tilting up, offering me a hint of her stunning smile.
Fuck, I feel this pull between us, and it might be the wine or the fantasy that I’ve built up in my head, but it feels like there’s something brewing, like there really could be something bringing us together, something more than the proposal, more than the rules.
Actual…attraction.
“Well, I guess that’s good,” she says, breaking eye contact. “You’d want to care about the person you want to marry.”
“Yeah, that’s what I hear. Then again, my parents didn’t really set an example for that.”
“I’m sorry,” she says softly. “I’m surprised you’re even interested in the idea of marriage. Most people who have a shitty example of marriage don’t want to have anything to do with it. Although, you don’t seem to treat it as the coveted sanctity that it is.”
“Why do you say that?” I ask.
“Because of the whole ‘find a fiancée’ thing. I might be wrong, but I’d assume someone who was serious about marriage would want to find the person they want to spend the rest of their life with and marry them.”
“Who’s to say I’m not doing that right now?” I ask, causing her cheeks to flush.
“Wow, the wine is really getting to your head,” she says, brushing off my comment, so I go with it and hold up our hands that are still connected.
“I could say the same about you. You’re still holding my hand.”
“I don’t want you to get lost,” she says. “You’re a flight risk and I don’t want to hear it from Aunt Kitty that I allowed you to get lost while drunk on homemade wine.”
“Homemade wine?” I raise my brow.
“Yeah, that was Aunt Kitty’s homemade wine.”
“Wait, you knew that all along and didn’t say anything? You blamed me for the lights and the music and the strawberries.”
She smirks. “Thought it was more fun that way.”
“You know, just when I think you’re innocent, you go and do something like that.”
“I’d never classify myself as innocent, so you shouldn’t either.”
“I like the sound of that,” I say, my eyes narrowing in on her, only for her to push at my face with her free hand.
“Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?” I chuckle.
“Like you’re about to devour me.”
“What if I am?”
“You’re not, because we have rules.”
“Rules are made to be broken, Gossy, and we’ve been breaking them all night.”
“I blame the wine.”
“Yeah, and I blame the company,” I say as we cross the street together and then head toward her street. Well, I guess our street.
“Typical man. Can’t take accountability seriously.”
“No, I can. I do. I’m different around you, because there’s something in that scowl of yours that really gets my motor revving.”
“You’re an idiot.”
“Well aware.” I wink, causing her to roll her eyes, but also, there’s a slight smile on her face, so I know she enjoyed it.
We spend the next few minutes walking together in silence, allowing the sounds of the night to take over.
The crickets.
The cicadas.
The waves lightly splashing in the distance while the humidity drifts away, making room for a cooler evening.
“I can see why people want to live here or visit…The nights are beautiful,” I say. “I love sitting outside in the evening, just listening.”
“Same,” she says. “It’s one of my favorite things to do, stare up at the moon and just soak it all in. It’s something I used to do with my dad.”
“Yeah?” I ask. “I was going to ask if you want to lie in the lawn and stare up at the stars with me, but if it’s something you used to do with your dad, then I don’t want to overstep.”
“You wouldn’t be overstepping.”
When we reach the front of our houses, I ask, “Are you sure?”
“Positive,” she says, her eyes hopeful.
“Okay then, Renley Lynn Gossage, will you lie down and stare up at the stars with me?”
Her smile is sweet but certain. “Yes, I will.”
I reach over and take her bag from her before tugging her down onto the grass. Sitting side by side, we both lie back and stare at the stars. My pinky rubs against hers, her head turns and I turn my head as well, before she fully grabs my hand and holds it.
Jesus, why did a wave of butterflies just erupt in my stomach?
“Are you flirting with me?” I ask her.
“What makes you think that?”
“You grabbed my hand.”
“Didn’t want you getting lost again,” she answers.
“We’re in front of our houses.”