Page 16 of So Much More
Wendy squeezes my hand. “That’s who I want you to be, too.” Then she laughs. “Though that might not be the right thing to say after you told me you don’t want to be what others want you to be.”
“That was the exact right thing to say.” I stroke the back of her hand with my thumb. “Will you promise to tell me if you feel like you’re in limbo with me again? If you ever wonder how I’m feeling about you—aboutus—I need you to tell me.”
She gives me a sweet smile. “I promise.”
six
“You were like a piranha with that fried chicken,” Randall says as we walk back to my apartment hand-in-hand after wearing out our welcome at the diner. “There wasn’t a scrap of meat left on those bones.”
I swing our arms between us. “I get serious about my food.”
“Obviously.”
“What’s one thing you get serious about?” I ask.
He suddenly stops, raises our linked hands high, and then twirls me around a few times. When I finally stop, I wobble a bit, giggle, and fall into him. He folds me into an embrace and leans down to kiss the top of my head. I slip my arms around his waist and look up into his grinning face.
“I get serious about making you giggle,” he says, “and I was pretty sure that would do the trick.”
“It did.”
“What else makes you giggle?”
I tap my lips as I think. “Puppies. Weird Al songs.Tom and Jerry.Old people holding hands.”
“I think old people holding hands is sweet.” He kisses my forehead, sending goosebumps all the way to my toes. “I want to still be holding hands with my lady when I’m eighty.”
“Hey, that rhymed. And I think it’s sweet, too. Would you still hold my hand if it was wrinkled and crooked and had warts all over it?”
“For sure. Would you still hold my hand if I only had two fingers?”
I cock my head to the side. “That would depend on which fingers you still have left. Pointer and middle? Definitely. Thumb and pinky? That might be stretching the bounds of my acceptance,” I tease.
“Hmm.” He runs his hands up and down my back, touching me with only his thumbs and pinky fingers, and my entire torso fills with heat. “You’re positive about that?”
“Actually, I’m positive I’d hold your hand even if all your fingers were nubs.” I pull one of his hands up to my mouth and kiss the tip of each finger.
We smile at each other for a few seconds before he tucks me into his side and we continue on our way toward my apartment. We don’t speak again until we exit the elevator on my floor and he stops outside it.
“You’re not walking me all the way to my door?” I ask.
“Nope. There’s a tiny bit less temptation if we say goodnight here. But you better believe I’m going to watch you sashay all the way down this hall.”
“Okay, then,” I say. “Good night.”
“Okay, then? All I get is an ‘okay, then’? No, ‘Thank you for the fried chicken,’ or, ‘You’re the sexiest man I’ve ever laid my gorgeous green eyes on,’ or, ‘I’m sorry I tried to nickname you chickadee’?”
I smirk up at him. “You get all three of those.”
“Okay, then,” he mocks and then throws his arms out wide. “Give me a quick hallway hug, and then skedaddle so I can watch you walk away.”
I fling my arms around him and squeeze him as tightly as I can.
“Oof.”His arms close around me. “Can’t … breathe. Need … air … to … live.”
I giggle and ease up on him the slightest bit.
“I’m not the biggest fan of the standing cuddle,” he says. “Your face is too far away from mine, Munchkin.”
