Page 25 of Fumbled Into Love

“This stays between us?” Deon asks, and his uncertainty and hesitation send a dull pain between my breasts.

I grab his hand and squeeze.

“Of course. Fake girlfriend confidentiality.” I hold out my pinky. He looks down at it, brows furrowed. “Pinky promise. The most sacred of oaths.”

Deon huffs a laugh but intertwines his pinky with mine. My core clenches, and I quickly snatch my hand away.

May-Day!

“My last relationship, well, it was…” he trailsoff.

“Complicated?” I offer.

“That’s one way to describe it.” The light in his eyes dims. “S-She liked that kind of thing, the fancy restaurants and expensive gifts. We did what she liked.”

I recognize the flicker of discomfort that flashes across his gaze, so I re-direct.

“Well,ourdates are going to be fun for theboth of us. Real or not…” I trail off, digging through my purse. I know I put it in here somewhere.Aha! I grab the matching bracelets I made during craft time at work. “This is for you.”

I slide the navy and gray braided friendship bracelet across the table. Deon picks it up with two fingers, twirling it around.

“What is it?”

“It’s a friendship bracelet.” His nose scrunches. “It’s to remind you we’re a team.”

I wrap the bracelet around his wrist, tying it off with a knot, then offering my wrist. He picks up the matching bracelet like it’s a bomb and not a popular craft at summer camps and gingerly ties it around my wrist.

I beam at my hard work. Bracelet making has been a popular activity in the craft room at work, and since I was a Girl Scout, I’ve been showing all the kids the different patterns. I saw the gray and navy and immediately thought of Deon.

There are a few wonky knots, and one section of the navy string is thicker than the others, but I’m proud. They have character.

Deon clears his throat.

“Um…thank you.”

His smile is shy but genuine and different from the ones I’ve seen. This smile is rusty, his dimples making a small appearance as his lip quirks upward. I ignore how my heartbeat flutters.

“We should take a photo.”

As I slide next to him, Deon jerks.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting close enough for us to take a photo.” I laugh, grabbing his bicep. His muscles go taut, and I rip my hand away. “Shit, sorry. I didn’t ask if it was okay to touch you. We didn’t discuss that.”

We didn’t discuss the fact I laid a big, fat kiss on his lips without his permission, either.

Oops.

I love physical touch. There’s nothing as comforting as a hug from someone you love. As a child, my father used to call me hispequeña barnacla: his little barnacle. I would crawl into their bed to cuddle, and once Santiago was born, I forced him to be my cuddle buddy, then Gracie.

Since meeting Maren, I’ve learned to ask before I go in for the hug, although she has become much more generous with her hugs since she met Jack, meaning I gottwoin six months, which is a new record.

My hand hovers over Deon’s bicep awkwardly.

“I-I like being touched." His gaze is downcast, like he’s uncomfortable admitting that he enjoys physical affection. “But maybe warn me next time you want to kiss me.”

“Next time?”

---