Page 40 of She Likes It, Hey Micah
Micah
Fischer is weirdly good atasking questions. I thought I had a talent for it, but he somehow manages to ask things that I would never think to ask anyone.If you could give anyone a million dollars, who would you give it to? What is the first song you remember falling in love with? If you were a character in a book, would you want to know the ending before you get there?He throws in plenty of “would you rather” questions as well, which get more bizarre as the morning goes on.
I didn’t expect this from him, which makes the drive all the more fun.
He still hasn’t smiled though, and I’m convinced he’s doing that on purpose now. There’s laughter in his eyes sometimes, but despite the occasional twitch of his lips, the man remains stoic as ever. Whatever his reasoning, I hope he gets over it soon. Before the anticipation kills me.
As much as I’ve been looking forward to seeing the Greenwood Lodge for the first time, I’m almost disappointed when we pull up in front of the large, log-paneled building. It means my time alone with Fischer is over, and I didn’t realize how much I’ve come to crave it until the loss starts creeping up on me. I knew I liked texting him, but today was different. Today he felt more human.
“I really hope this place is ready to go,” Fischer mutters, looking up at the lodge through the windshield. “Our contractor said everything was good, but…”
I smile at him. “We’ll never find out unless we go inside.”
Fischer falls into step beside me as we make our way to the entrance, walking way closer than I expected him to. When we went on our walk, he kept his distance, hands in his pockets most of the time and an awareness of how much space was between us. Every time I tried to get a little closer, he shifted farther away. Today, however, his arm brushes against mine.
Hisbarearm. At some point during the drive, he rolled up his sleeves, once again giving me an excellent view of the muscle and sinew that makes up his forearms. I was never into forearms before I met Fischer, and now I’m obsessed.
“Do you work out?” I ask when he reaches for the door.
His hand freezes on the handle, and he seems to be calculating every possible answer to that question. “Yes.” That’s all he says.
I poke him in the stomach, and I’m met with solid muscle beneath my fingers when he tenses. Oh boy, now I want to see the man’s abs. Would he ever show them to me? Probably not. “How much? What do you do? Why do you—”
“It’s a good way to relieve stress,” he says and then grits his teeth. “There’s no way to talk about working out without sounding like a tool. What if I tell you what Kale does?”
“Kale? He’s your roommate, right?”
He nods. “He’s big into yoga. But I don’t think it’s normal yoga. I’m convinced he spent his past life as a contortionist.”
I really want to meet this guy. “Does he believe in past lives?”
“Surprisingly, no.”
“Well, don’t think you’re off the hook when it comes to your own workout routine, but we should probably go inside.” I glance behind me at the empty parking lot. “I’m guessing the others took the scenic route.”
Fischer frowns and grabs a key from his pocket. “I’ll give you a tour while we wait.”
The lodge smells like fresh wood and paint, but there’s still an undercurrent of oldness in the air that instantly fills me with longing. If only my mom were here to show me where all the little moments happened. To point out what made this place magical. My dad doesn’t really talk about her unless I ask specific questions, and I’ve learned not to ask because he always gets this look of pain in his eyes. He’s not meant to be alone, and I love his current wife. But I don’t think he ever loved anyone quite as much as he loved my mom.
Fischer finds a light switch, and I gasp when the scene in front of me comes to life. There’s so much to see that I struggle to take it all in.
Beyond the front desk, an open lobby stretches out to the forest beyond the lodge—the back wall is entirely made of windows, so it feels as if we’re outside. Plush couches and armchairs fill the room, all of them pointed toward three different fireplaces. The vaulted ceiling rises overhead, chandeliers glowing warmly.
I can almost picture my parents standing in front of those floor-to-ceiling windows, my mom in a simple white dress and my dad in his favorite suit, the one he still wears sometimes even though it’s old and worn. They didn’t have a lot of people at the ceremony beyond their kids—Dad’s parents were already gone and my maternal grandmother was too sick to travel from New York—but I’ve seen the pictures. There was never a happier day than that one.
“Micah?” Fischer nudges my arm, probably because I’m crying.
I grab his hand, ignoring his sharp intake of breath at the contact. I need something to hold, and he’s the only one here. “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” I whisper, brushing my tears. “How much did you change?”
If he is uncomfortable holding my hand, he doesn’t show it. “Not much, actually. Most of the renovation was to update the wiring and plumbing, and we took out the chapel to make room for the gym. We took out a wall over there to expand the lobby as well, but beyond that, Grant was smart enough to keep the core of the lodge the same as it always has been.”
I study his face for a moment, which is as hard to read as ever. “When you say Grant, do you really mean you?”
He ducks his head. “Not this time. He took on this project over a year ago, and I only came on to Bradley Properties a few months ago. Before he was…” He shakes his head. “He hasn’t always been this distracted. He’s going through a lot right now, and… And you probably don’t need to know that.”
“It’s a good thing he has you to keep him steady.” I squeeze his hand, as if he needs a reminder that I’m here. Or maybe to comfort him? He doesn’t really seem like he needs comfort, though… So, maybe I squeeze his hand because I like the way it feels in mine. The way his long fingers wrap securely around mine.
I’ve held plenty of boys’ hands, but never have I felt so safe doing it. Maybe it’s because Fischer isn’t a boy. This is amanbeside me, one who says nice things to me because he wants to, not because he wants to kiss me or sleep with me. In fact, he doesn’t seem to want anything from me outside of this reopening event going well.
