Chapter 16 #3
“People are always making tea in the mystery books I read, but I don’t think I’ve actually ever sat down and had tea,” he said, startling me when he returned a few minutes later.
I turned around with two mugs in hand. He was now dressed in an orange-and-brown flannel that went well with his coloring and another well-worn pair of jeans. He had left off his shoes, and when I looked down, I was pleased to see there were still signs of his pedicure in the clear polish.
“Happy to be your first. Cup of tea.” I cleared my throat. “You like to read?” I asked and set down his cup.
“I like detective mysteries.” He rubbed a pointer finger at where his mustache had been. “That was what inspired my mustache, but I got too many comments about it.”
“I liked your mustache.” I was surprised that Pace let anybody’s opinion dictate his actions, especially after what he’d just said.
His subtle grin was gone too quickly as he took a sip of tea—
“Careful, it’s hot.”
I winced as he spat the tea back into the cup, making a face like a baby trying a lemon for the first time.
“That’s hot sewage water,” he said, still smacking his mouth to get the taste out. “Sorry. I mean, I appreciate the effort, but bleck.”
“I have bubbly flavored water from the General Store if you prefer.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Yes, thank you. Sorry again. I guess I’m not classy enough for tea.”
“Maybe you’d like it better with honey or milk.”
He glared at the mug. “Maybe. But we will never know.”
I handed him a can, and he opened it with a crisp pop.
“Thank you. I read a lot at the station when I’m there for the longer shifts.
” He played with the tab on the can. “And actually, that was something I wanted to apologize for. I did know better. With your anxiety. I read a lot of books about loss and mental health when my best friend lost his mom.”
Unexpectedly, my throat tightened, and my eyes burned like they might get tears.
I turned my back toward him to pour his undrunk tea into the sink.
It was so incredibly thoughtful. I wouldn’t normally be brought to tears at the thought of a simple kindness like a friend looking out for another friend, but it was having Pace Leigh here.
In my space. I was already so on edge. All my emotions were too high and ready to spill over, the surface tension barely holding them in.
“That’s nice that you tried to help him,” I said.
My back was still to him, so I was surprised when I felt his presence close behind me. It was an awareness before a tangible sense. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. Heat tickled along my spine. I turned around, and he stood over me, head tilted down, features serious and mournful.
“I came off as a prick last week. I’m sorry, Sophie.
I really am.” Earnestness poured from his gaze.
It made my heart slam against my chest. I could see the remorse in him, and I wondered if he’d been thinking about things all week like I had.
I wouldn’t have guessed that before I knew him, but now I was starting to understand there was far more than surface good looks to him.
His hand lifted, and for a startling second, I thought he was going to hold my face.
Instead, he swallowed and tucked his hands into his jeans pockets.
“I know it’s not as simple as just get over it. I really do,” he explained.
It was strange. He was so much freer with his touches when we first met, and now it felt like he held them back.
“Thank you,” I said. I was brave when I reached out to touch his shoulder softly before dropping my hand again. “It’s frustrating for me too. I really hate it,” I said.
“I’m sure. Can you just do me a favor though?” He asked so earnestly that there was no chance I’d turn down any request.
I nodded.
“Can you just promise you’ll overcommunicate with me? Like, if I misspeak or you need to be alone. Just tell me. I can take it. But I can’t take not hearing anything.” He cleared his throat. “Just don’t disappear on me. I don’t like that.”
He was the most serious I’d ever seen him. All I could do was nod.
“And don’t be so hard on yourself. I don’t want to hear you say mean things about my friend,” he added. I could fly to the moon. He thought we were friends. What would I even do with that information?
“My therapist would make me say five nice things about myself if she heard me say something mean, but thankfully she dumped me, so ha-ha, joke’s on her.”
He opened his mouth to say something, but I didn’t want to delve into all that.
I quickly stuck out my hand for him to shake and said, “No more running away. Next time, I will tell you before I hide.”
“Next time.” He smiled so big, and I felt myself fall forward into the gravity of it. “I went about this all wrong; I have an idea to try for the next time. If you trust me,” he said.
And I couldn’t help myself. I really did. I trusted Pace more than anybody I’d met, and it boggled my mind because we didn’t really know each other.
“Okay. Let’s try again,” I said.
It would be okay. This was about adapting myself to socializing. It had nothing to do with my growing crush on Pace.