Page 101 of Eye of the Beholder
“Thanks,” Mina says, blushing.
Lydia is correct; it does look good. The style shows off Mina’s neck and shoulders and collarbone, all perfect, all incredibly kissable. I refrain from commenting.
“And let me see how the back fits,” Lydia says.
Mina turns around, pulling her hair to her front so that the back of the dress is visible. It’s cut low; her shoulder blades are visible just peeking out from the fabric. My mouth goes dry.
I have problems.
“Gorgeous,” Lydia says with a sigh. Then she looks at me. “Still want me to stop lending her dresses?” She pulls a tissue out of the pocket of her robe and blows her nose.
I don’t have a clear answer for that, so I avert my eyes from both of them and fiddle with my tie instead.
“Here,” Mina says, swatting my hands away. “You’re just making it worse. And we need to go.”
She stands in front of me, straightening my tie with a frankly impressive amount of concentration and determination. Then she gives it a tug and smiles up at me. “Are you ready?” she says.
“No,” I say, smiling back. “But we should go anyway.”
She nods, tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, and gestures for the door. Instead of opening it I take her hand in mine, telling myself it’s a gesture of solidarity rather than anything romantic. My racing heart strongly disagrees. Her fingers lace easily with mine. And in the past I would have taken this a sure sign that she’s interested, but…well, it’s Mina. The usual rules never seem to apply, and I don’t know what to think anymore. Instead of overthinking, I open the door, and we step together into the cold.
31
Mina
Idon’t regret missing the meteor shower.
Because even though we drive in silence, my hand is in Cohen’s the whole time, and his thumb is tracing light circles over the back of mine. I don’t know what it means, us holding hands—I only know that it feels incredibly right.
I can tell he’s nervous; his posture is slightly rigid, and even though he’s wearing what he probably thinks is a calm expression, his jaw is tense, his brows furrowed.
“It will be okay,” I say finally. My voice is quiet, but it seems loud when it breaks our silence. “You’ll be fine. You’re not going to have to have any heart-to-hearts with him, and you can use me as a conversational buffer as much as you want.”
Cohen doesn’t take his eyes off the road, but a small smile flits across his lips. He squeezes my hand briefly. “Thanks.”
“Where is this place?” I say.
“The cathedral on Main,” he says, and he pulls his hand from mine, running it through his hair. My hand feels unnaturally cold now, and I place it awkwardly back in my lap.
“The one with the stained glass?” I say, interested. I’ve never been in, but I’ve always admired the building.
“Yeah,” Cohen says, looking briefly at me. Then he looks back at the road.
“Is it going to be weird for you? The church part? You’re sort of touchy about that right now.”
“I wouldn’t say touchy,” he says, but he grins.
I raise one eyebrow. “I woulddefinitelysay touchy.”
He doesn’t respond, but the smile stays on his face. I glance at his hands on the steering wheel. He only needs one hand to drive; I want to hold his other hand again. Forever.
Ugh. Somehow my feelings for him have spiraledwayout of my control.
To my surprise, he all but reads my mind and reaches over for my hand again. I can tell that’s where he’s going. But before he can actually take my hand, he stops with a funny jerking motion and then yanks his hand back to the steering wheel. My heart falls, and I try not to look disappointed. I stare determinedly out the window instead.
When we pull into the parking lot, Cohen parks and gets out quickly, and before I know it he’s at my door, opening it for me.
I look up at him, surprised. “Really?”
