Chapter 24
Sophie
Despite Pace’s reassurance that I hadn’t totally embarrassed him in front of his firefighter peers, I did, in fact, worry the rest of that night.
Levi and Claire took me home, and I probably would have ruminated on my feelings until Thanksgiving if Pace hadn’t called me about an hour later. We ended up talking well into the next day, and nary a kiss was mentioned again.
We had made plans to knock off the fall event to-do list item a week later for real this time, which was tonight.
He told me to come to his place first, and we would take his truck over to the pumpkin patch just outside town.
It was time for the Annual Throwing of the Pumpkins.
Now that Halloween was over, Cozy Creek loved to see who could throw the pumpkins the furthest. I think people just liked to watch them explode. What a strange little town we were.
I didn’t mind the short walk, and I was more than eager to see where he lived.
Based on all our chats, I knew that he rented and was hardly ever home, but I was surprised to see just how nondescript his house was.
It looked like all the townhouses around it, with nothing that told me it was his home, other than the house number.
Did it feel like home when he was here? Did he feel more comfortable at the station?
I hadn’t stopped thinking about him. There was no doubt in my mind how close I was to falling for him. I was on a precipice I couldn’t come back from. If I were being honest, my reaction the night of the fire told me everything. But it hurt to think about that, so I didn’t.
We were also close to being done with the list. If I could keep all this nonsense on lock and under control until we crossed off the final things, then I would be golden.
The list needed to be complete. I needed to be fixed. I couldn’t get sidetracked now when I’d gotten further than I ever had.
I could get back to my safe, small reality where I only saw Pace on calendars later, but for now, I needed to stay on task.
I ignored how sick I felt, thinking about after completing the list, and knocked on his door.
There was no hesitation before the door swung open, as if he’d been standing there waiting.
Bit by bit, I’d learned parts of Pace that I thought were open to everyone.
But the more time I spent with him, the more I understood that he shared very little of his inner self with the world.
It wasn’t that he was fake with anybody else; he shared a certain part of himself equally with everyone, but it was a specific version of him.
It had only taken weeks of near-constant companionship, but it was evident that I had entirely misjudged Pace and his lifestyle in the exact same way I feared being misunderstood.
Another thing to be shoved way down.
Take that, Dr. Spinner. If she wouldn’t be my doctor, I wouldn’t healthily process anything in real time. I stuck out my mental tongue at my therapist.
“Hey,” he said as he welcomed me into a simple, undecorated living room.
He was wearing his favorite pair of jeans—incidentally, also my favorite pair of his jeans—that snugged his thighs just right and a tight T-shirt that accentuated his muscles.
He was in the process of pulling on a thick flannel and buttoning it when I got lost in the vision that was Pace Leigh putting clothes on rather than taking them off. Who’d’ve thought?
I’d imagined I’d develop an immunity to his attractiveness, that repeated exposure would dull the effect. Not unlike my exposure therapy tampering the fear of interaction.
Nope.
It was the opposite. An addict who no longer gets the rush of that first hit and needs a stronger dose to feel neutral.
I was so screwed.
“Hi,” I said, remembering that, customarily, greetings went both ways.
“Sorry. I’m not ready yet. I’m dragging my feet tonight,” Pace said as I followed him deeper into the house.
Except for now, I was looking at his feet. He must have gone again for a pedicure because they looked great: clean, well-trimmed, freaking sexy, and masculine.
“You like?” He wiggled his toes, catching where my attention had been. “The guys at the firehouse brought in a couple of the women from the pedicure place last week, and we all got our toes done.”
“I would have paid to see that.”
He chuckled.
“They look great,” I said. “Now you won’t give hobbits a run for their money.”
He laughed again and then took a deep breath in and out, looking at me funnily.
I wasn’t sure what that look meant, so I turned my focus to check out his place.
It smelled surprisingly comfy, like he’d been burning a fall candle titled “Walks Through an Autumn Forest,” but when I looked around, I saw only a plug-in candle warmer.
Duh. He wasn’t likely to be burning things for fun.
His place was tidy and simple. It definitely had the feel of being occupied only part of the time and lacked personality.
There were crucial staples but hardly any whimsy or pizazz.
His locker at the firehouse at least had photos of his nephews and family.
There was a small stack of his mystery books, but even that was sparse.
I understood why. He once confessed he never kept any book after finishing, always donated them or brought them to the firehouse for the guys to read.
He felt like it took away from the book’s life journey if it started to collect dust on a shelf.
I couldn’t help but feel a little attacked, considering I hoarded everything I ever bought.
Probably, there was a healthy medium somewhere between both of us.
When I glanced back to him, his eyes moved over me too.
I was also in my favorite jeans and a sweater.
I’d been wearing lipstick regularly now because it really did make me feel powerful, and I had lined my eyes with liquid liner because practice made progress.
And they looked halfway decent. I’d been feeling prettier lately.
I wasn’t sure if it was because I made an effort more regularly, or if Pace’s confidence had seeped into my skin through osmosis of us spending so much time together, but when he said I looked good, I was starting to believe him.
“You look great,” he said again now, like he did every time he saw me, but there was a hint of regret.
He’d sounded so excited to hang out when we chatted earlier, so it surprised me how subdued he acted now.
Was he about to cancel our not-a-date night? Was that a feeling of regret for not going out? Normally, canceled plans were my favorite sort of plans.
“Are you okay?” I asked. He was different tonight, still handsome and charismatic, but there was a softness to him, a blurring of edges like he’d been sleeping.
“Yeah, for sure. I am ready to hit the town. It’s the, uh, tree lighting tonight?” He rubbed his hands together eagerly, but it rang false.
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Pumpkin throwing,” I said, purposely setting him up to make a joke. “Those things aren’t going to toss themselves.”
“Oh, yeah, right.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?” I asked again. “It’s not like you to forget an event where your adoring fans will be waiting.”
He laughed, but it was half-hearted at best. I didn’t know Pace even ran a half-hearted setting.
“I feel . . . weird,” he admitted.
“Are you getting sick?” I asked, itching to cover my face with the collar of my shirt.
“Did you just back up?” he asked with incredulity.
“No,” I lied, backing up more.
“You so did. But I’m not getting sick. I just feel . . .” He rubbed at his chest. “Like tired at the thought of putting on shoes and going out there and interacting and all of it.”
I fought to hide my growing disappointment because this was about him. Also, there was a part of me that was very excited by what he had begun to describe.
“I think I know this condition,” I said with concerned nodding, like a doctor hearing symptoms.
“Condition? I’m not—”
“It’s I-don’t-want-to-go-itus. The opposite of FOMO. It can be very serious in some cases.” I steepled my fingers at my chin. “The only cure is to stay in for the night. I can see this is your first time with this affliction, and I can help you through it.”
As he watched, a slow smile pulled at his mouth. “I must have caught it from you,” he said, playing right along.
I nodded sadly. “Probably. Yes. Can be highly contagious in awesome company.”
“That explains it.” I smiled at the floor, and he added, “What do I do?”
“Stay in. Rewatch favorite movies. Eat comfort delivery food. Listen to emo songs from your youth to make yourself cry. Try to be as antisocial as possible, and it should clear up by tomorrow.”
“You know, that sounds like a good idea,” he said.
“Well. I am a pro.” We shared a long smile.
As proud as I was of Pace, I was fully sad to see the night end. What a waste of an everything shower and a full face of makeup.
I squeezed his shoulder. “Take two quarts of Ben and Jerry’s and call me in the morning.”
His hand snatched my hand before I could pull it all the way back. “You can’t go,” he said, suddenly sounding worried. I looked to where he held me. My heart pounded hard, my silly mood slipping off into something more serious, but I didn’t want to misinterpret his meaning.
“Don’t you want to be alone? That’s a very common side effect.” I kept my voice light despite the anticipation that was currently taking my breath away.
“No. I don’t want you to go.” He shook his head as if to say no more of this game. “I just don’t want to go out there and be . . .” He trailed off, seemingly unable to find the right words. His lifted arm gestured to the Outside World.
“On?” I supplied.
His brows lifted in surprise. “Yeah. Exactly. It’s not that I feel like I’m acting . . .”
“But being around people is a type of acting,” I jumped in. “It’s not the same as lounging around, burping with freedom.”
“Huh. I guess I do act differently in front of people. Only because I feel like they expect it.”