Page 51 of A Man To Remember
Consider me yours.
If only it were that simple.
CHAPTER 18
JESSE
AUSTIN'S ALREADY WAITING on the corner of Fifth and Main when I round the block, hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets, eyes scanning the crowd flowing past him.
He hasn't spotted me yet, so I slow down my pace, taking a moment to just watch him.
When did that become something I do? Just milling around, staring at this man like he's some kind of museum exhibit I can't quite figure out?
There's something about the way he stands, patient and solid, that makes my chest do this stupid fluttery thing. Like my ribcage is full of moths instead of lungs.
I sneak up behind him, close enough to smell his cologne, and tap him on the opposite shoulder from where I'm standing.
He spins left, finds nothing, spins right, and nearly jumps out of his skin when he sees me grinning like an idiot.
"Jesus, Jesse!" He clutches his chest dramatically. "Are you trying to give me a heart attack?"
"Just keeping you on your toes."
"I was perfectly comfortable on my feet, thanks."
He starts walking and I follow, matching his stride. The afternoon sun cuts through the clouds, making everything look gold-washed and temporary. "So, where are we going?"
"It's a surprise."
"I hate surprises."
"No, you don't."
"How would you know what I hate?"
He gives me a sideways look. "Because you look curious, not annoyed."
Am I really that easy to read?
"Maybe I'm just good at hiding my annoyance."
He smiles. "Maybe. But right now, you're just curious."
We walk in comfortable silence for a while, weaving through pedestrians and street vendors. The backs of our hands keep brushing as we move, these tiny points of contact that send electricity up my arm every single time.
I want to take his hand.
Thread our fingers together like it's the most natural thing in the world.
But I don't know if I should. What that would make us, if anything.
Are we dating? Hooking up?
Having an extended nervous breakdown together?
I'm so busy spiraling through the possibilities that I almost miss it—the moment he guesses my thoughts, as if hearing them in his own head, and reaches for my hand.
His fingers slide between mine, warm and sure, and suddenly the whole world narrows down to that point of connection.
