Page 34 of Without You

Except there’s the warmth that explodes inside my chest, as soon as my palm presses against him, and it... it definitely suggests otherwise.

8

Julian

We pass the threshold, and I wait for the sudden change. For the intimacy of his action to dawn on him, and for him to freak out and step away. But it doesn’t come.

Not for either of us.

If I’m not mistaken, the pressure of his palm against my lower back increases, the further into the restaurant we walk. It takes every ounce of willpower not to turn around and look at him. Not because I want to alert him, or because I want to break our contact.

Because I don’t.

I just want to see his face, read his expression; try to work out if the things going through his body and mind are as chaotic and confusing as my own.

When we reach the table, his hand slides off my back, almost like he was reluctant to let me go. My head swivels around, my torso twisting uncomfortably, desperate to get a glimpse of him at this moment.

He doesn’t hide his eyes or turn away from me. He gifts me a view of very visibly flushed cheeks that would be hard to explain to anyone that was looking at us too closely.

Every single part of me wants to drag him out of this place and insist he explain whatever this is to me.

Why is he touching me? Why do I want him to?

“Julian. Deacon,” Victoria calls out, breaking the spell. “There’s two seats here for you.”

His eyes shift, no longer focused on me, his face now scrunching up in irritation at whoever it is behind me. Certain that it’s Victoria, I turn to find her grinning in satisfaction.

I shake my head at her and smile. “Leave him alone.”

She and everyone else around the table look at me quizzically, but I ignore them. I’m as clueless right now as the rest of them.

We take our seats, side by side; me next to Victoria and him on the edge. She nudges me, and I lean into her, avoiding eye contact. “My brother’s being nice to you,” she whispers.

“We’re being nice to one another,” I correct.

“Either way, it’s really weird.”

Her observation is harmless and completely natural for our relationship. Apart from Rhett, she’s always been my closest friend. My closest family.

I haven’t been very forthcoming over the last twelve months, but she never lets my mood deter her. She’s always there. Offering an ear to listen, or a shoulder to lean on. It’s not just her ability to share her loss with me, but it’s her ability to understand the differences of what we lost.

Sometimes it’s a smile, or just a playdate with Lia; a text or a phone call. She never gives up, even when I think I want her to.

She’s the eyes and ears of the family, and that’s why the change between Deacon and I hasn’t gone unnoticed. The only problem is, now that she’s aware, she’ll be watching and documenting our every move.

“Can we talk about it later?” I say, trying to end the conversation.

“Oh, we will be.”

Picking up the menu, I distract myself and look through the list of dishes. When I noticeDeacon’s body turned to the side, his arm around the back of my chair, casually looking over my shoulder, I turn my head up to face him. “Get a good look?”

My voice is unrecognizably playful, and to my surprise Deacon smirks. “There’s no point looking at the menu. Any time my parents are here, my dad suggests the set menu so we can have a taste of everything.”

“Oh my god,” I say, a smile stretching across my face. “You’re so right. How did I never realize that?”

He looks up across the table at his dad and murmurs in my ear. “Three. Two. One.”

Bill closes the menu and looks around the table. “Wouldn’t it be easier if we just got the set menu? They have a bit of everything on offer.”

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