Page 27 of I Love a Good Challenge

“I don’t.”

“Then what are you doing here?” Her arms are crossed, her posture guarded in every way. Sparrow and Rafe are watching us, and I hate that nothing I can do will erase the history between Lily and me. It hovers in the air between us, a hunter that we can’t ever outrun.

“My friends asked me to be here. So, I am.” So simple but true. She doesn’t need to know what it took from me to walk through the door. What it takes from me every time I’m around her and trying to pretend that my smile hasn’t changed.

“Okay, well, we’re heading out,” Sparrow says so quickly that I know something is off. I narrow my eyes, trying my best to suss out an ulterior motive, when Rafe gives me a grimace. He mouths that he’s sorry. I stuff my hands into my pockets to keep the frustration from pouring over.

Lily appears beside me, encroaching into my space. “You’re leaving?” she asks them.

The faintly shrill quality in her tone reveals just how on edge she is right now. I used to think I brought her peace, and the change in knowing how nervous she is to be alone with me—even in a public place—sends me reeling. It’s a sucker punch to my ribs.

“Rory, I can’t— I need help with the dress,” she continues shakily. Her nerves make her voice louder than I think she intends.

“Oh, well, have Graham help you,” Sparrow replies with a smile that is a little too wide to be considered normal. “Oh, and Graham, you know what? I think a black suit you already have in your closet will work just fine!” She moves quickly to the door and is on the sidewalk without looking back.

“No problem,” I call after her stiffly, now fully aware that I was never getting a new suit for the wedding in the first place.

“Good luck!” Rafe is pulled through the door behind her. I see him glance through the window with a shrug and a sorry gesture before he’s gone. So much for being my best friend. I may have to rethink who is suitable for that role in my life if I make it out of here in one piece.

I clear my throat and turn to the wide-eyed woman beside me. “You need . . . help?” My words sound forced, but I’m doing my best not to look like a complete fool. It’s not working.

Lily bites her lip, frustration written all over her. I assess the situation as discreetly as I can. I’m trying my best to figure out why she won’t be able to get out of this dress alone while simultaneously willing myself to look away and not think about her stepping out of it. It’s a conundrum.

She stirs, and the dress rustles. I look up to find Lily standing in such a way that the mirror in the main room gives me a clear glimpse of the back of the dress. My mouth goes dry. Her whole back is exposed, except for the choker piece, which has tiny buttons running down the length of it—lots of them. And it hits me why she would struggle to get out of the dress. Someone has to assist her with the dozens of buttons.

“Isn’t there someone else who . . .?” I trail off.

“Normally, yes,” she affirms. “But it’s bingo night at Gladys’, and Shirley told us to lock up.” She points to a set of keys on the counter across the room.

“And you can’t take this home?” I immediately cringe.

“To sleep in it, George? No, I can’t.” She turns toward the mirror and reaches behind her neck to fiddle with the buttons. I hear her say under her breath something to the effect of, “Should’ve worn the blue one,” and, “Last time I try vintage,” and, “Let’s see her try to make maple croissants without sugar.”

I’m a little afraid of the threats pouring out of her mouth and am about to call it a night and let her fend for herself when I catch the shakiness in her hands.

If Lily is my nemesis these days, I’ve caught her in the most vulnerable moment. I debate just letting her figure it out because as much as I want to show her that I’m still here—still wanting to be beside her—I also think she’s wrestling with wanting to love me back. She told me she wanted to be someone’s first choice but didn’t believe me when she became mine. And seeing her like this leaves me feeling more raw than I care to admit.

I back toward the door to allow my lungs the space they need. It only seems possible to breathe when I’m farther away from her. But my heart has a different mission. I remind myself to let her know I’m not the enemy.

“Challenge me,” I blurt out suddenly.

“What?”

“With anything. Challenge me. Please.” Hesitantly, I move closer, willing my hands not to reach for her.

“You don’t need to do this, George.”

With what can only be described as a growl, I close the distance between us.

“What are you doing?” she exclaims, her eyes catching mine in the mirror. She sees me backing up and then coming forward again. Not my proudest moment.

“I’m helping you.”

“Why?” The question hovers, her eyes never leaving mine. It’s the hottest form of tension, watching each other in the mirror. It creates a level of removal that allows us not to feel as if we’re purposefully staring. Except, the moment proves even more intense because I can see myself too. I see the thin veil of sheer attraction in my eyes, my clenched jaw, and the way I’m leaning toward her more as the seconds pass. There has always been a transparent tie between us. Now I have proof of our connection. We don’t often get the gift of seeing what we’re really like in a situation and realizing it is not what we imagine.

“Why, George?” Lily pleads.

“Because you need help.”

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