Page 33 of Mountain Hero

“I’d rather not.” His brows draw into a small V. “I’d rather hear about your day. Did you rest? Was everything with Knox and Ronan okay?”

Another one of those little fantasies flickers through my head. Sitting on the couch together after work, talking about our days; not as a new thing, like this is, but a regular occurrence.

“Things with Knox and Ronan were good. Knox told me about his company and showed me pictures of his dog and he said he could help with my house. Ronan and I watched a few episodes of The Office. And I did rest. I took a nap after lunch.”

“Good.” Enzo’s hand twitches toward mine, but he stops himself, lowering it to his lap instead.

Nervous moths take flight in my belly. I’ve gotten used to holding his hand. I like it. It’s a small permission I’ve been allowing myself, rationalizing that even friends hold hands.

But has he changed his mind about it? Was he thinking it was a small way of comforting me when I was hurt, and now that I’m doing better, he doesn’t need to anymore?

I don’t realize I’m frowning at his hand until he gently touches my chin, raising my head so he can meet my gaze. That worry line etches into his forehead again. “Are you okay? Is something wrong? Is your head bothering you?”

“No. My head’s okay.” The headache is still there, but it’s ten times better than it used to be, and the nausea and dizziness are almost entirely gone.

“Then why do you look sad?”

I shouldn’t tell him. It’s silly. It could imply a level of intimacy I should be avoiding. But it comes out anyway. “Do you not want to hold my hand anymore?”

His face jolts. “What?”

Heat fills my cheeks. “Nevermind.”

“No, not nevermind.” Enzo leans toward me, his eyes turning a deep silvery-blue. “Do you want me to hold your hand?”

My heart stutters. It’s hard to take a full breath.

“Yes,” I finally whisper. “But not if you don’t want to.”

“Ah, Winter.” His hand comes over mine, big and warm and achingly gentle. “I didn’t want to assume. Or push. But I definitely want to.”

Oh.

My heart isn’t just fluttering. It’s a whole percussion section drumming at top speed.

It’s crazy. Just holding his hand feels like this incredibly intimate connection.

“Okay.” I give him a small smile. “Good. I want you to, too.”

There’s something in his eyes that makes me wonder if he feels the same way as me. But it’s too soon to ask. Too soon to be sure I’m ready.

So instead, I squeeze Enzo’s hand and say, “I actually made dinner for tonight. A casserole. I know it’s summer and usually people don’t cook casseroles when it’s hot. But I found the recipe online and?—”

Oops. I’m not supposed to be using the computer. “Um. I mean. I might have looked online for a second…”

“You don’t need to cook for me, Winter.” Now his thumb is stroking across my hand and for a second I lose track of what he’s saying. “I’m happy to do it, even if I’m not very good…”

Stop thinking about how the roughness of his thumb feels against my skin. And definitely stop wondering how it would feel if he touched me…

The casserole. Talk about the casserole.

“It’s just some vegetables and tortellini and cheese,” I manage. “Nothing fancy. It took maybe twenty minutes to prep. And you can take leftovers to the store for lunch tomorrow.”

“That does sound good.”

Aha. It’s like Violet always said. The quickest ways to distract a man are with sex and food. And since sex is off the table for now…

Stop. Do not think about sex with Enzo.

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