His brows shot up. “Does it look bad?”
“It’s pretty,” one of the little girls in line reassured him.
“Pretty, huh?” He stepped forward. “Let me see, Honor.”
She shook her head, stepping back.
&
nbsp; He was an athlete. She was not. He was fast. She was not. And she was ridiculously ticklish—something he discovered immediately. It took five minutes for him to free the mirror. In those five minutes she was laughing so hard, tears streamed down her face. Until he looked at his reflection, then she winced, ready to run. What was wrong with her? Why had she done this to him? “Owen…”
“Honor.” He lowered the mirror. “How did you know butterflies are my favorite?” He reached around her, no space or air or relief between them, to place the mirror on the table. She couldn’t breathe without breathing him in. So she did. Big, deep breaths that flooded her lungs with Owen. His hands settled on her upper arms, and he smiled down at her. “Thank you.”
Speechless. Absolutely. She nodded. It’s not fair.
He pressed the lightest kiss right in the middle of her forehead, waved at Emily, and disappeared down the street.
“You two are together?” Emily asked, in shock. “Like together, together?”
She answered without the slightest hesitation. “We are. Owen Nelson is my boyfriend.” She was grinning like an idiot for the rest of the night.
…
Graham watched Hank Otto and his wife dance to the smooth tunes of Patsy Cline. The older man moved in perfect time with the rhythm of the music spilling out of the karaoke machine. The booths, tables, and all remnants of the evening’s festivities had been cleared away, but the music played on. And a small crowd of lingering volunteers and residents was making the most of it.
“Graham?” Felicity joined him, her wagon loaded with decorations and leftover baked goods. “Still here?”
“I seem to have misplaced my daughter.” Not that he was worried. The last time he’d seen Diana, she was with Nick and Honor. “Figured I could help clean up a little, anyway.”
“That’s very nice of you.”
“It was very nice of you to invite us.” He shook his head as Herb Otto spun his wife—with flare.
“They do this every year. I think it’s their favorite part.”
“I’m impressed,” he said, nodding at her parents. “Hank is light on his feet.”
“He loves to dance. Says it’s a good excuse to keep my mom in his arms.” She shook her head. “You know how Mom is, all over the place, all the time.”
He nodded. He did know. Mimi Otto liked to be involved—at the very center of things, if possible. Sometimes that was a good thing, while other times, not so much. Tonight, he’d learned how worried she was about her daughters, and how she wondered, since he was a doctor, if he had any advice.
Not that she needed or wanted actual advice from him. He figured that out pretty quick. Mimi’s worries were an excuse to showcase her daughters, hoping to gain his interest in one or the other. And while he was flattered that she thought he was good enough for either of them, it didn’t make her maneuverings any less irritating.
“They make it look easy, don’t they?” Felicity asked.
He wasn’t sure if she meant dancing or marriage or living life, but he had to give it to them—Mimi and Herb Otto seemed to have it figured out. “They do.”
“Felicity,” her father called out to them, waving them over. “Put on your dancing shoes.”
“Dad,” she answered, waving off his suggestion.
“You dance?” he asked.
“No, not really.” She shrugged. “But…”
“Do you want to?” He held his hand out. “I’ll warn you now, it’s been a long time.”
“Ditto, Dr. Murphy. Let’s have some fun breaking each other’s toes.” She took his hand and headed toward the designated dancing spot—a wide illuminated circle beneath the corner streetlamp.