Page 43 of Trying Sophie

I unlocked the car but before I could open the door, Declan reached down and did it for me. I wasn’t sure if he’d brushed up against me on purpose, but the contact sent a flash of heat straight to my cheeks … and other places.

Hoping to cover my reaction, I eased into the driver’s seat and raised my cup in salute. “Thanks for the coffee.”

Declan closed my door and lifted his hand on a wave.

When I was halfway down the street, I looked into my rearview mirror to see him standing where I’d left him, staring after me.

* * *

Two dayslater I ran into Declan again, this time when my grandma sent me to the post office.

“So we meet again,” a voice chuckled from behind me in line.

I twisted my head over my shoulder to find him smiling down at me. “If you’re not careful, I might think you’re stalking me,” he said.

“I’d like to point out you are the one who always seems to show up wherever I am. Perhaps you’re stalking me.”

He shrugged but kept on smiling.

Curious about a theory I had, I asked, “What’s with you and the shrugging?”

“What do you mean?”

He looked genuinely perplexed.

I mimicked the gesture he used so often, albeit in a more exaggerated manner, and he broke out in a hearty laugh. “Well?” I asked when he’d finished.

“I honestly don’t know. You’re the first person who’s ever said anything about it.”

“Sure I am,” I muttered under my breath, turning back in line.

He came around in front of me and took the heavy package from my hands, balancing it with one hand against his hip. “Seriously Sophie. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

I peered at him with narrowed eyes. “You expect me to believe no one has ever accused you of avoiding answering their questions? Or that you sometimes dismiss them altogether with that damn shrug of yours?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m telling you.”

A long-forgotten memory popped into my head of one of our teachers telling Declan he could get away with murder just by smiling and shrugging if he ever got brought in front of a judge.

I laughed, placing my finger firmly against his chest and pushed. “Oh my god. You’ve been doing it your whole life!”

He looked past me and furrowed his brow.

Why was he being so obstinate about this? It wasn’t really a big deal, just a minor personality quirk I didn’t love because it made me feel like he didn’t care to engage with me on anything other than a superficial level.

When he didn’t respond, I tried to read his face for signs of avoidance but he still seemed genuinely confused.

“You really don’t know you do it, do you?”

Testily he answered, “I just said I didn’t.”

“Yikes, sorry. Don’t bite my head off.”

I reached for the box and he passed it back to me.

“I should get going,” he said, adding, “I’ll see you later.”

“Don’t you have a letter to mail or something?”

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