Page 28 of Dear Henry, Love Edith
“One dance.” He held his hand out. “The song isn’t that long.”
“Happy Birthday” would be too long in his arms. “I’m not so sure this is a good idea,” she said, unable to stop herself from sliding her hand into his.
“My knee can handle it.”
It wasn’t his knee she was worried about.
But it wasn’t like she was agreeing to marry him. Shoot,she wasn’t even agreeing to date him. She could handle one little dance. Couldn’t she? Edith reached for his shoulder as his palm slid around her waist. She could.
“All right. But just the one.”
He smiled and the space between them disappeared. They swayed, hardly lifting their feet. She told herself it was because she didn’t want to jostle his knee. Not because she was using this as an excuse to simply be held.
An unexpected pressure built behind her eyes. When was the last time she had been held, come to think of it? Her throat tightened and her nose burned. A shuddery sigh escaped from her lips. To muffle the sound of a sob, she pressed her face into his shoulder. Warm, strong hands slid around her back, securing her against his chest.
She didn’t know when the music had stopped. Probably around the same time they had stopped with the pretense of dancing. One of his hands moved up to cradle her head against him.
“You okay?” he whispered.
No.She’d married Brian so young. And then they’d drifted so far apart. She thought maybe she’d forgotten what it was like to be held by a man, but now she realized she hadn’t forgotten. She just never knew.
“Aww shucks.” A voice interrupted them the same moment a bright beam of a flashlight blinded them. Jumping a step back, Edith held her hand up to block the light. She recognized the Mickey Rooney look-alike, as well as some other members of her new fan club. “Should’ve known Hobbes would get her all to himself. Come on, boys. Looks like we’re back to dancing with our wives tonight.”
The men offered some good-natured groans, then immediately began talking about golf. “Usual tee-off time tomorrow?”
“Wait—” Hobbes took a step toward Edith. She was glad the darkness hid her flamed cheeks as she spun away and gathered her shoes.Hobbes. Not Paul Newman. Hobbes. Wake up, Edith. This isn’t some pretend fantasy. He’s a real person.
A real person who’d looked at her as if he really did want her all to himself.
Stop.The last thing she needed was to be getting ideas when she was supposed to be chasing her dreams. South Africa. Adventure. A new story. Not this...whateverthis was.
Edith ran all the way to her car. And she made sure not to look back.
A few hours later, Edith hung her dress on the top of one of the wooden doorframes at the crisis center. She had brought a change of clothes with her to the benefit so she could come straight here afterward. The silky material slid over her fingers as she ran her hand along it.
What had Henry said in his letter? Don’t let a pair of blue eyes keep you from chasing after your own bit of adventure?
Yeah, well, what about a set of strong shoulders? A self-deprecating smile that turned her insides to mush? Or a weird sort of connection she’d never experienced with anyone else before? What about that? Could that be enough?
With a sigh, she released the material and tiptoed outof the room. No. And her great-great-aunt Edith would be ashamed of her for even considering it.
Edith shuffled down the stairs and headed to the kitchen to put on the teakettle. No more thinking about the man called Hobbes. Not tonight. Not ever. Only thoughts of the future. Three years in South Africa. After that, who knew? South America? Europe? India? South Africa was only the beginning. She had to remember that.
The clock on the microwave showed a little past midnight as she set the kettle on the burner. Maybe some popcorn to go with that tea.
Movement behind the kitchen window caught her eye. She jumped and clamped her hands over her mouth to stifle a scream, then slowly worked up the courage to peek behind the curtain.
A face appeared. This time she did scream. Then gasped as recognition settled in.
Edith ran to the back door, unbolted the lock, and jerked open the door. “What in the world are you doing here?” she whisper-shouted. “You scared me to death. You shouldn’t be here. It’s the middle of the night.”
Steve held his hands up. “What did you expect me to do? You weren’t answering my calls. This was the only way I knew how to talk to you.”
Edith palmed her face. How had he even found her? “Steve, I didn’t answer because there is nothing left to say. Now please go. I’m working.”
“No. Not until you promise to talk to me. You may not have anything to say, but I have plenty to say.” Steve crowded into the door, and Edith blocked his entrance.
“Stop. You really can’t be here. I mean it. This is a crisis nursery center.” She didn’t know why she added that last part, but it did make him pause.
