Page 64 of So Much More
“You put on a show at McConnell’s when you held my hand and put your arm around me.”
“Those were your decisions, and they were to help Tammy, which I understand. But I didn’t have time to think about it or get a say in it. Did I enjoy touching you? You’d better believe it. But I don’t want to touch you for other people’s benefit. From here on out, I’m only touching you if you want it foryou.”
twenty-eight
Iheld Randall’s hand for me today, too, not only for Tammy’s sake, but I don’t think I can tell him that. While it felt so right for my hand to be in his, it also felt so wrong to sit there while he apologized to another woman for kissing her. I’m glad I was with him when he did it, because I wanted to make sure Tammy understood she wasn’t fully to blame. But that doesn’t mean I enjoyed envisioning the two of them kissing in that very room.
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” Randall says.
“You really want to know?”
“I do. Don’t hold back.”
“I’m thinking about you kissing Tammy.”
His face falls. “I wouldn’t have minded you holding that back.”
I shake my head. “You can’t pick and choose what you want to hear me say.”
“I know. But I’m afraid that kiss is going to haunt us forever.”
“Hopefully not forever,” I say, “but probably for a while.” And I can’t imagine the memory won’t taint my first kiss with him, if we ever get to that point.
The waitress brings our ice cream, and we don’t speak for a while. I try to focus on enjoying the treat instead of thinking about the man sitting across from me, but it doesn’t work.
“We still haven’t solved the problem of what to do at work,” he says.
As I take a few more bites of my hot fudge sundae, I think about what I want, not only for how we interact at work, but also for where I want our relationship to go. Sitting at a standstill isn’t going to get us anywhere. If I want to see if I can forgive him and move past what he did, I have to take steps to get there.
I sit up straight and look him in the eye. “I want to hold your hand. For me—nobody else.”
Excitement flashes in his eyes, but he keeps his expression neutral. “Friends don’t hold hands.”
Why is he fighting me on this? “Friends with bantering do,” I counter.
“I don’t recall any bantering happening today.”
I huff out a frustrated breath. “Are you trying to make me change my mind?”
“No, I’m making sure this is what you want. Don’t do this because it’s what I want.”
I place one hand out palm-up on the table while keeping my gaze directed on his. He looks between my hand and my eyes a few times before wrapping his hand around mine. I feel a flutter in my belly when his skin touches mine, which gives me hope we can move forward.
Again, we don’t speak for several minutes, but we steal glances at each other while we continue to hold hands and eat our ice cream. Since he’s using his right hand to hold mine, he’s forced to use his left hand to eat, which is becoming quite amusing. The man is apparently as far from ambidextrous as a person can be.
“You need me to feed that to you?” I tease.
He shoots me a stern look. “I’m pretty sure feeding each other is not included in the friends-with-bantering-and-hand-holding contract.”
I shrug. “You could always let go of my hand.”
“I’m not letting go of your hand until I drop you off at your apartment.”
His declaration makes my heart pound, but I try to keep him from seeing how his words affect me.
I press my lips together and then say, “What if you need to go to the little boys’ room?”
“You don’t have any little boys,” he says. “So there’s no room for them.”
