Page 81 of The Pocket Pair

“Recovered?”

“From being in close proximity to a woman who’s so deeply in touch with her emotions.”

Chevy chuckles. “I have seen women cry. You remember I have a sister. You might know her?”

“Have you actually ever seen her cry? Winnie keeps her emotions inside of a bulletproof locker with a retinal scanner lock.”

This draws out more than a chuckle, and as Chevy belly laughs, he pulls me in even tighter, moving me until I’m against the railing directly in front of his body with his arms caging me in on either side.

A girl could get used to this. Me. I’m the girl. I could get used to this.

Chevy leans close until his lips are almost brushing my ear. I could get used to this too.

“Today wasn’t so bad,” he tells me.

The liar.

“At one point, you called Pat for help. You asked him if he knew of any kind of medicine that would help a woman stop crying,” I point out. “And don’t think I didn’t hear you asking if melatonin would knock me out.”

If I hadn’t been so devastatingly sad, Chevy's frantic phone call to Pat would have made me laugh. It might later, when I’ve had some time and distance. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen Chevy panic. But even now, I’m still a little too tender about Mari leaving to laugh.

“I was kidding,” he says.

He definitely wasn’t.

“Why Pat? Out of everyone in the world, why him?”

“Weird as it may be, Patrick Graham might be the most in touch with his emotions of anyone I know. Besides you, obviously.”

“My emotions and I did a lot of touching today,” I agree.

“Are you okay?” His voice goes serious, and his lips get a little bit closer to my ear. So close there’s a featherlight touch that makes my whole body freeze. “For real—today was a big deal.”

I swallow. “Yeah.” I don’t elaborate on what I’m agreeing with—that I’m okay or that it was a big deal—because I’m not even sure myself.

Chevy’s hands slide closer together on the railing so his arms are flush with mine. When he speaks, his lips aren’t just brushing my ear. He’s practically kissing it.

“Do you have to go?”

“Go?”

If my voice sounds a little breathy, it’s just the cold air. That’s all. And if I’m struggling to follow the conversation, it’s only because it’s been a long day. Not because Chevy's lips and whispers have rendered me useless.

“To Costa Rica. I think it might kill me when you leave, Tiny.”

Then give me a reason to stay. The words are RIGHT THERE. In my throat, on my tongue, but my stupid mouth won’t let them out. So much for bold Val who held Chevy’s hand today. Apparently, she has a short shelf life.

But I stop beating myself up to really focus on what Chevy just said. This is big. HUGE even.

I take a big breath before spinning to look at Chevy. I’m about to ask something or confess something or maybe even DO something like finally freaking kiss him when I catch sight of all the faces pressed up against the glass window behind him.

I mutter a Spanish curse word under my breath, one Mari used to say only when she was really upset about something. Whatever it means, it’s so bad she never would tell me.

“What?” Chevy swivels his head enough to see basically the entire party watching us. Then he groans.

The door opens just a crack and Pat sticks his head out.

“Hey, lovebirds. Did you see where you’re standing?”

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