Chapter 20

CHAPTER TWENTY

Anna

I feel oddly conspicuous walking down the street hand in hand with Troy, but I know it's all in my head. No one's around this far from the main downtown area on a lazy Sunday afternoon.

Sunday's probably not the best day to give someone a tour of downtown, and I'm not sure why I thought this was a good idea when I suggested it. Well, that's not true. I am. I was thinking we should do something together, but I didn't really know what. The art festival wraps up today, though I'm not sure how into art he is, so I thought we could swing through there, I could show him the big sights, and if he wanted to check out things like the Christmas Emporium or something, we could do that. And it seemed better than just inviting him over to my house, though I have a strong feeling we'll end up there eventually.

We walk in silence through my neighborhood, Troy looking around and taking it all in. I look around, too, trying to see it like I haven't been living here for years. Shady trees dot people's yards, a mix of native conifers and transplanted maples and various decorative trees that bloom in the spring in a profusion of white and pink flowers. By this point, they're all covered in leaves, though, which makes the walk pleasant.

"It's pretty," Troy says after a moment. "Do you like living here?"

I nod. "Yeah. Like you said, it's pretty. And the neighborhood is quiet. The summer is full of different seasonal festivals, which lasts from about May to October, and then we get a little break before ChristmasFest gears up after Thanksgiving. But of course, that's just when it runs. The city starts putting up lights in late October so there's plenty of time to make sure it's all working before the festival kicks off. It's really pretty, though. I like the quiet times when the city's not packed to the gills with tourists, but the festivals are fun, too."

He smiles at me. "Which festival is your favorite?"

"Oh, hmm. That one's a little tricky." I tug on his hand, indicating we need to turn. Our pace is easy and relaxed, and now that we're talking, I feel like this wasn't such a terrible idea after all. "I think the ChristmasFest," I say after a moment, glancing over at him. He's watching me like everything I have to say is interesting. "It's just so magical, you know? All the lights and decorations and the town hall is filled with vendors, and Santa and Mrs. Claus lead a parade to kick it off the day after Thanksgiving."

Troy's grinning. "Do you go to the parade every year?"

Laughing, I shake my head. "No. It's usually cold and crowded, but I went the first year I lived here. Even if I don't want to go every year, I'm glad I went that time."

"Maybe we can go together this year."

That surprises me, because … he's just here on vacation. But he lives in Seattle, so it's not like it's super far. I guess we could keep in touch, and maybe he'd decide to come visit the day after Thanksgiving … "Yeah." I clear my throat. "Maybe."

If he notices my awkward surprise, he doesn't show it, instead asking me more questions about Arcadian Falls and what I like about living here. I tell him stories about working for Dr. Banks and when they were filming the Julius Caesar adaptation here last year and how everyone went crazy over it, including our former dental hygienist helping with costumes and ending up in a relationship with Hayden Maddox.

We walk up and down the streets that make up the primary downtown area, and I point out my favorite spots—the cute local bookstore, Brit's shop, the town's oddities museum, and a couple restaurants where I like to grab lunch sometimes when I don't feel like packing a lunch. Or when I just want to get out of my apartment. That usually happens in the winter, when things are slow and lazy here, after the hustle and bustle of ChristmasFest is over. I get so used to being around people so much of the time that after a few weeks of only seeing patients and coworkers, I need a little more life and energy. By mid-February, everyone around here is dragging from the winter doldrums, with the fun of ChristmasFest a distant memory and summer too far away to give anyone much spark.

I don't know why I haven't let Brit convince me to come along on a girls' night before now. Because that would be the perfect antidote to that feeling. Maybe she never caught me at just the right time?

But really, I know it's because I always figured they were pity invites. When Tori was still here, it seemed like I'd be the odd one out. And after saying no a few times, they stopped asking much, and it was easy to dismiss the offhand invitations they'd toss my way as more for politeness' sake than any real desire for my company.

Now, though, I'm wondering if I had it all wrong the whole time. Brit seems to genuinely enjoy hanging out with me. And I like her too.

And then there's Troy, who apparently can't get enough of my company.

I glance up at him, taking in his strong jaw and the sharp blade of his nose. He glances down at me and smiles, his face full of warmth and affection that's surprising given that we've only known each other a couple of days. But the most surprising part is that I feel the same amount of warmth and affection toward him.

I don't typically feel this comfortable with someone this quickly, but I think I'll just enjoy this feeling while it lasts. I know too well that good things often end in terrible ways. But despite Troy's comment about coming back for ChristmasFest in November, I have no illusions that this relationship will last any longer than his time here on vacation.

And since I know exactly when and how it'll end, I can simply enjoy what we have without dreading some unknown future.

After checking out all the art on display next to the town gazebo, we stop for root beer floats at the local pub that brews its own root beer, our conversation flowing the whole time. He shares more stories of life growing up playing hockey, and I edit some of my own college antics with my friends, skirting around mention of Jared. The root beer is spicy and not as sweet as the kind that's generally available, but it pairs deliciously with the smooth vanilla ice cream, making it the perfect afternoon snack.

Once again hand in hand, we walk back to my house. He follows me up the stairs to my door, releasing my hand so I can unlock it. "Do you want to come in?" I ask casually as I open the door, impressed with how steady and relaxed I sound even though my nerves have ratcheted up at the prospect of having him in my home.

He smiles. "I'd love to. But feel free to kick me out if you get tired of having me around."

I grin back. "Okay. And don't be shy about leaving if you need to go."

Leaning down, he kisses my cheek. "I don't have anywhere I need to be. And there's nowhere else I want to be. I'm yours for as long as you let me stay."

My breath catches, and I turn my head slightly, intending to look at him, but he captures my lips with his for the first time today, and I sigh into his mouth.

When he ends the kiss, I let out a sound of protest. He chuckles softly. "Let's go inside," he whispers.

"Oh. Right. Of course." Turning, I push the door open, enjoying the feel of Troy's large hand spanning my lower back as we go inside.

He closes the door behind him and stands in my dining area, looking around and taking in my apartment like he did before. His lips quirk up in a hint of a smile. "I like how your place reflects you so much. This is exactly what I would've pictured if I'd thought about it before coming here," he observes.

I frown. "What do you mean?"

Gesturing expansively at the small space, as though that should sum up everything, he shrugs. "It's neat and tidy but also comfortable. Put together. Though I have to admit I did imagine you'd have a little more artwork. Why didn't you get one of the pieces you liked at the festival?"

I shrug too, looking around my apartment. "I don't know. I always feel …" I lift my hands and let them flop back to my sides, trying to put into words the weird paralysis I have with decorating. It's the same with clothes shopping. I don't really enjoy either activity, and it's difficult to pinpoint why.

No, actually it's not. Not if I'm honest. I have trouble picking out things I like because my choices have so often been criticized and held up as not good enough.

I can't say that, though. Not out loud. Not right now.

"I just don't want to spend money on something unless I know I love it," I say instead after a moment.

Troy seems to accept that, nodding as he looks around again.

"Want a tour?" I ask, even though we can see almost the entirety of my apartment from here.

He grins. "I'd love one."

"This is the dining room," I say, waving a hand like a gameshow assistant. "And that's the kitchen." I point at the space on the other side of the breakfast bar. It's very compact—or "cozy" as the apartment listing called it—and I'm not sure the two of us would fit in there at the same time. "Would you like a drink?"

"Water would be great."

He follows me into the tiny space, filling the entrance and blocking me in, watching me as I pull down two glasses and fill them from a pitcher in the refrigerator. When I hand him his glass, his fingers brush mine, sending a zing of electricity up my arm. I should be used to both his proximity and his touch by now, but something about having him here in my space, no one to interrupt us, adds a new layer of tension and anticipation. It's thick in the air, nearly tangible.

His eyes hold mine as he sips his water, then he steps back, letting me pass. We go into the living room, and he surveys the area, taking in the basket tucked under the coffee table holding my current knitting projects. "You knit?" he asks, and my shoulders come up a little. This was one of Jared's least favorite parts of me—how much I enjoy knitting.

I like to knit while watching TV or a movie, and he'd complain it meant we couldn't cuddle. Of course, when I'd put down my knitting so we could cuddle, he'd complain of being uncomfortable. So then I'd have to sit there, my fingers itching to work on my project, neither cuddling nor knitting, because if I reached for my needles again, I knew he'd sigh and huff and carry on and completely ruin the evening.

"Yes," I say quietly.

"That's so cool," Troy says, sounding almost enthusiastic. "My mom knits, and my grandma did too. Did you make that blanket?" He casts a glance at me as he steps toward the couch, running the tips of his fingers over the afghan folded over the back.

I have to clear my throat because of all the reactions I expected, this wasn't on the list. "I did." My answer is firmer this time. "My mom got me the kit to make it last year for Christmas. I actually finished it just a couple months ago, so I haven't used it much."

"It looks cozy," he murmurs. "I like it. What are you working on now?"

I wave a hand, trying to dismiss the question, because the only people who ever actually care about that are other knitters. Like Amanda and Stephanie, the owners of the local yarn store. When I go in, they ask what I'm working on or what I plan to make with my new yarn. But random guys? Never. "Oh, just a sweater. And a pair of socks."

That small smile he wears so often when we're talking makes an appearance. "Can I see?"

Shrugging, I perch on the edge of the couch and pull my basket out. Troy sits next to me, leaning forward like this is the most interesting thing he's seen in ages.

"Nothing fancy," I feel the need to defend myself. "Just some plain vanilla socks. But it's pretty yarn, so anything like lace or cables would be too busy." I pull out the sock that's currently on the needles, and he fingers the cuff. "These feel great." Then he looks at me. "And the sweater?"

"Oh, I'm excited about that one. It's all squishy cables. It'll be perfect for winter, especially on the really cold days. It's not much to look at so far."

Once again he reaches out to touch the cream-colored yarn, nodding in satisfaction. "You and my mom would get along great, I bet. Hang on." He pulls out his phone, then settles back on the couch, and for a split second I'm worried he's going to call his mom.

Instead, he opens the photos app on his phone, scrolling for a while, then leaning in close to show me a picture of a smiling older couple, the woman's gray hair cut in a chin-length bob and the man's still showing streaks of dark brown mixed with the silver. They're both wearing knitted hockey jerseys bearing the Seattle hockey team's logo.

"My mom's been knitting team jerseys for them to wear to my games since I was in college." He grins down at me. "They wanted jerseys with my name on them, but in college that wasn't available, so my mom decided to make them. As soon as I got drafted to a pro team out of college, she cast on almost immediately for another one. No generic jerseys are good enough when they need to support me," he chuckles.

I take the phone from his hand, zooming in on their sweaters. "Holy crap. That's amazing."

His arms move up and down against my shoulder with his shrug. "That's my mom, though. She's like that about everything. If she can't find what she wants, she makes it. And half the time, even if she can buy it, she'll make it anyway, saying she can do a better job than whatever's available in the store."

Grinning, I hand him back his phone. "Judging by that"—I nod at the picture—"she's not wrong."

As he puts his phone away, I load my knitting back into its basket and put it away under the coffee table again. Standing, I hold out a hand to him, all my nerves completely washed away by that conversation. "Want to finish the tour?"

Taking my hand, a wide grin on his face, he stands. "Absolutely."