Page 10 of Unravel Me

“Not yet, but next year, hopefully.” I smile up at him as I unwrap my sandwich and hold half out to him. “Grilled chicken and pesto panini.”

His stomach rumbles. “I can’t eat half your lunch.”

I snicker, stuffing it into his hands. “Your stomach says differently.”

He blushes but accepts happily. “Don’t judge me, but I’ve already had two Big Macs today.”

“Oh God.” I moan. “I haven’t had a Big Mac in years.” When you’re on a budget as strict as mine, you don’t stray from your carefully curated grocery list, except to accommodate whatever coupons are in the flyer that week. I look at Adam, noting that on my second bite, he’s already devoured his half. I poke his hard stomach. “You look like the kinda guy who’s always hungry.” I blanch at my words, then quickly backtrack. “Because you’re so tall, I mean. I’m not sure I’ve ever met someone this tall.” I swallow. “And broad.”And his butt. I mean, wow.

Adam chuckles, picking an apple pie cookie from the container I offer. “I am the tallest of my friends, and I’m hungry most of the time.” He devours the cookie and swallows. “But you should see my friends, Carter and Garrett. They’re human garbage disposals. I have a cupboard at home with snacks just for when they come over.”

“You’re joking.”

“Nope. I have to refill it weekly.”

Piglet stands and stretches before lying at Adam’s side, her head in his lap. As she drifts to sleep while Adam gently strokes the spot between her eyes, just how she likes, I’m blown away by the instant change in her demeanor today.

“I’ve never, ever seen this before. She hasn’t really warmed up to any man. The only person she’s so relaxed with is, well…me.”

“Don’t worry.” He nudges my shoulder with his. “I won’t replace you.”

I giggle. “Promise?”

“Promise.” His gaze moves over me in a slow sweep that heats my insides. “’Cause you’re irreplaceable, Rosie, aren’t you?”

I drop my gaze to my legs, watching them swing above the sparkling creek below, unable to hold his stare. It feels intense, like he’s looking for something. I don’t know what, but all at once I’m both worried he won’t find it and hoping he doesn’t.

Whatever it is he’s looking for, I’m not likely to stack up. The only thing I’ve ever been good at being is someone’s second choice.

Fingers flutter against my cheekbone, coaxing my gaze back to Adam’s. He brushes my bangs aside and smiles, twirling a lock of honey blonde and pale pink before tucking it behind my ear.

“I like your hair,” he tells me quietly.

My cheeks heat as I touch one of the messy, pink buns on my head, before fluttering down to the bottom half that hangs loose, unruly waves resting an inch or so above my shoulders. “The buns? Or the color?”

“Those buns up top are cute as hell. But I really like the pink. It’s kinda rosy…just like you.”

My nose scrunches. “You think so?”

“Mhmm. Pretty and unique.”

His kind words slow the beat of my heart. Normally the only people who gush over my hair are kids. Instead, I get judgmental looks from people in the grocery checkout line who think a person’s life choices are reflected in something as trivial as their hair color. I haven’t had much control of anything in my life. This is one way for me to take back control, something I do because it’s my choice and mine alone.

So as Adam’s fingertips skim my cheek when he pulls back, I’m sure he feels the warmth he brings there when I whisper, “Thank you.”

After lunch, we wade through the shallow creek, the cool water refreshing on my bare feet. Adam goes a little farther, until the water nearly reaches his knees, and I inch back to land as my heart thuds in my chest.

He joins me a few minutes later with two happy, wet dogs, and ambles along beside me as we head back to where we came. Do I contemplate detouring several times and claiming I’ve gotten us lost to drag this day out a little longer? Yes. Yes, I do.

But before I know it, we’re at the top of that old, rickety staircase that leads us back down to reality.

Adam starts down ahead of me with Bear, and Piglet does as she always does: digs her paws into the dirt, refusing to move.

“C’mon, girl,” I coax gently. “You’re safe with me; I promise.”

She whimpers and lies down, and I sit on the top step, petting her head.

“Hey, Adam? Go on without us. Pig’s afraid of going down the stairs. It’s usually a half-hour affair. I’ll just—”

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