Page 35 of Catch
Lox never responded, but she heard me. I could see it in the way her fingers tensed slightly against the table. Denying it would be pointless. Wishing it weren’t true would be even more pointless. She had a life waiting for her, and as much as I had come to care for her in just a week, I knew the life she was returning to was bigger than anything I could offer her in Harmony Haven.
Still, the thought of her leaving twisted something in my chest. What kind of power did Loxley Adams hold over me that had me thinking in months and years instead of days and weeks?
“Your mom loved Sammi Smith?” she asked suddenly, pulling me from my thoughts.
I blinked, adjusting to the shift. “Yeah,” I nodded simply.
“My mom used to say she was the most underrated female country singer of all time. Not sure how true that is, but she loved her too. I listen to her music when I get homesick.”
My fork hovered over my plate before I set it down. Something about the way she said it, the quiet nostalgia in her voice, made me want to do something more for her. Reaching across the table, I took Lox’s hand, intertwining our fingers. She glanced up, questioning, but didn’t pull away as I stood, guiding her with me into the living room.
“Stay here,” I instructed, pointing at her playfully.
She smirked but obeyed, shifting her weight in her flannel pants and t-shirt, her hair twisted high on her head. Barefoot, just like me. Nothing fancy about us, and yet, the moment felt special.
I moved to the cabinet near the TV, pulling out one of my mom and dad’s old records. The vinyl slid into place on the turntable, and I dropped the needle onto the final track.
As the soft crackle gave way to music, I turned back to her, holding out my hand. “Dance with me?”
A slow smile spread across her lips. “I love this song.”
I pulled her into my arms, and we swayed while Sammi Smith’s voice wrapped around us as she sang,Help Me Make It Through the Night. The song was so perfect, because we were two lonely people, caught between want and reason. So close to not caring what was right or wrong.
Holding her, leading her in that slow rhythm, I realized I couldn’t stop myself from falling for her. Even knowing it was temporary, even knowing it would end, I was helpless against it.
“Lox?” I whispered, hoping she’d look up, hoping she’d see in my eyes what I couldn’t bring myself to say. But her gaze was glossy, and a single tear slipped down her cheek. I cupped her face, my thumb brushing the dampness away. “What happened? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she whispered with a sad smile. “I just feel… so many things at once.”
“Me too,” I admitted. “And I know I’m making it worse, every second we stay like this.”
“But I don’t want to move.”
“Then don’t.” I pulled her closer, tightening my hold as the song faded. The music stopped, but we didn’t. We stood there in silence, still swaying, still wrapped up in whatever this was.
“Miles?” Lox whispered against my chest.
“Yeah?” My throat felt tight.
“Are you going to kiss me?”
I stilled. For a moment, I wasn’t sure I had heard her right. It was the most direct either of us had been since whatever this was had started. I wanted to be just as direct in return.
“I don’t know yet.”
She nodded, as if she understood completely. “I know exactly how you feel.”
Did she? Was she as tangled up as I was? Overthinking it as much as I was?
Any other woman, and I would have acted on instinct. I would have kissed her without hesitation. But Lox wasn’t just any woman. Not because she was Loxley Adams. But because of how dangerous it all felt.
Our time together had been short, but it had pushed us together in a way that felt like a dream. Too fast. Too intense. And if I kissed her, if I crossed that line, would she pull away? Would my home place stop feeling like the safe haven she needed it to be?
She kissed my cheek instead, pulling back with a knowing smile, her eyes still an unreadable mix of emotions. Before I could react, she turned and disappeared into her room, shutting the door behind her.
I exhaled sharply, staring at the closed door. I paced the hall, passing her room over and over, contemplating knocking. Even an hour later, knowing she was probably asleep, I was still tempted to stand there, willing her to open the door and make the choice for me.
Then I remembered her tears, her indecision. If she really did know exactly how I felt, then why would I want her to feel that way?
