2. George
George
Sarah teetered on the top step. I lunged and caught her arms. Pulled her to me. She swayed, a whisker away from falling against me.
When had she grown so tall? Sarah, Viola’s closest friend, our neighbor, always underfoot.
When had she stopped being elbows and knees and become…
this? Pale hair, soft curves, stunning, disarming.
Somehow, I hadn’t looked at her—not really—for years.
And now spots of pink appeared on her cheeks as I held her.
I didn’t push her away.
“I say,” Mr. Muntz called. “Are you quite all right out there?”
There was a girl in my bubble. No. A woman. Words slipped past the knot in my throat. “We’re fine. All good here.” My voice cracked on the last word. What was wrong with me?
I scrambled for an excuse to keep her near, just until I could think straight. “We’ll check for Viola in the garden.”
I should let go. Get to work. Couldn’t. My pulse kicked. It wasn’t as if I’d never held a woman before.
My hand slid to her elbow, and I guided her down the steps and onto the garden path between our houses, her skin smooth and warm under my fingers. I let go.
“Are you hurt? I came out like a blazing wild boar.” I flashed the guilty-little-boy look that always got me out of trouble. “Didn’t even look before charging through. Please, say you’re all right.”
She folded her arms. “I think I’ll survive, George.”
“Yes… alive. Exactly. Excellent.” I nodded. Then nodded again. Couldn’t seem to stop.
“Is Viola out here?”
Her shoulder rose to only a few inches below mine. I bent to check her feet—flat shoes, no heels. No stilts.
Her brow arched as she caught me looking at her footwear, but she said nothing.
I deployed my dazzling smile. My secret weapon. Unfailing. I braced for demure tittering, fluttery lashes, and flushed cheeks. But… nothing. My step faltered and I turned it into a playful jog beside her.
Her brows knitted. Eyes, a mix of golden brown and olive green, regarded me steadily. Long, dark lashes did not flutter. Not even slightly.
Huh. Maybe I was getting rusty. Impossible. And yet…
I straightened and lowered my voice. “So, you forgive me for running you over?”
Sarah scanned the back garden. “I don’t see Viola.” But she didn’t turn back to the house.
We crunched along the winding path. Each step convinced me she was irritated. More than a collision warranted. Maybe she didn’t like me. I’d teased her and Viola as kids. Mischief, not malice.
But people always like me. Especially women. I raked a hand through my hair.
Our shoulders bumped. Unexpected heat shot through me. Gertie had called her an ice queen. She was wrong. Nothing icy about Sarah.
If I left now, I’d definitely make it on time and avoid a glare from Father. The man could peel wallpaper with a glance. My charming smiles didn’t work on him either.
Yet, I couldn’t force myself away, not yet. I walked deeper into the backyard, pausing with one hand on the wisteria arbor. I’d make Sarah smile. Once should be easy, and then I’d head off to work. Probably.