Page 85 of Show Me How
“You got a better animal to use?”
“No.”
“I doubt you’ll need me to carry you anyway. I’ve never met someone who can walk as well in those shoes as you can,” I say, my voice softening.
“I could get boots. It’s probably more fitting for this town. Wearing heels here was silly anyway.”
I shake my head, my hands deep in my hoodie pocket. “You don’t need to fit into this town. You couldn’t if you tried.”
“I am trying to,” she admits softly.
“Stop. You not being like everyone else here is part of what makes you so fucking special. Don’t change that, especially not because of what Bryce said. She’s giving you a hard time because that’s her way of getting to know you, not because she really thinks you need to change anything.”
Millie blinks, her lips parting. She looks like she’s trying not to believe me.
“Don’t overthink it,” I add, stopping her mind in its tracks.
Her voice is softer than it’s been in days when she asks, “You meant it?”
“I’m not in the habit of saying things I don’t.”
“I know.”
She doesn’t look away, not even when I give her the smallest grin I’ve got.
“If I say something nice, you don’t have to dig around for the catch.”
“Easier said than done. There’s always a catch somewhere, even if it’s not obvious.”
“The only one I have is that I’ll keep saying it ’til you start believing it.”
Her lips twitch, like she’s not sure whether to laugh or cry. There’s a shift in her then, like she feels moreseenthan a minute ago. Like what I’ve said means something to her. Then her fingers brush mine. It’s barely a touch, as if she’s testing the weight of what I just said.
It’s enough to pull all the air out of my chest. I don’t grab her hand. Don’t push either of us. But I let my knuckles stay there, grazing hers until she looks away with the faintest smile.
And that’s how I know I’ve got her believing me—at least a little.
25
MILLIE
Shade blows casuallyinto the cup of apple cider in his right hand a few times before handing it over. He falls back to my side, and we continue through the rows of pumpkins.
I take a cautious sip to make sure it isn’t going to burn my tongue, but it’s the perfect temperature. My pulse flutters slightly at the easy way he thought to blow on my drink like that. He doesn’t so much as look at me for any sort of reaction to the sweet gesture, as if he truly doesn’t think it was a big deal.
It was.
“Do you always carve pumpkins for Halloween?” I ask, trying to distract myself.
“Fuck no. Not since I was a kid. But Daisy’s got this new fixation with starting traditions, and I guess we drew the short straw with this one.”
“Traditions aren’t your thing?”
“I don’t mind traditions. IfIget to choose them,” he says.
“I’ve never had any. I don’t think this one would be all that bad.”
I feel his attention fall over me. “Not even one? How is that possible?”
