“Thanks. I think they like you too.” More like I liked him. Way more than I should. And with each picture he stood for, I liked him a little more, especially when he’d remind people to go bid high on the auction items. As the party progressed, the requests for pictures slowed, and we ended up standing near the back of the room, eating fancy food and watching people spin on the dance floor. A sappy song came on and more people headed to dance. There were several same-sex couples, including a Batman and Superman duo who were particularly good dancers.
Dynamic duo. That was what Milo had called us, but I knew in my gut that wouldn’t be us. Milo? Making lovey-dovey eyes where other people could see? Not happening. Not to mention the chances of him wanting something permanent and public were next to nil. I exhaled hard, trying to keep my earlier resolution about not getting bent over things out of my control.
Right as I breathed out again, a hand brushed mine. Milo. But instead of flinching away, like I’d expected, he kept his hand there, against mine, fingers tracing my wrist and palm.
“What are you doing?” I whispered.
“I believe it’s called holding hands.” He laced our fingers together, squeezing my hand like we were alone in the car and not five feet from my friends who were not going to miss this development.
“It is.” My heart clattered against my ribs, which were entirely insufficient to withstand this surge of emotion. “And I’m not complaining, but I feel honor bound to point out that we might be noticed.”
“That’s okay.” The back of his neck was flushed as were his cheeks, but he didn’t pull away even though I could feel the tension in his grip. “Maybe we should dance.”
“Here? Now?”
“Well, maybe not this song. This song is pretty terrible. But your friends are dancing.” He gestured at the dance floor where Kellan and Jasmine were swaying out of rhythm to a Disney love song. “We should too.”
“That’s going to be even more noticeable than holding hands. People are going to think we’re together.” I was starting to worry that I was having an out-of-body experience. Or maybe that Milo was.
“What was that you said earlier? Let them.”
Yep. He’d definitely been kidnapped by aliens and this was his cry for help. And he might sound resolute, but he’d also turned pale and stiff again.
“You look like you just rode that roller coaster. You don’t have to do this.” I didn’t drop his hand, but I did pitch my voice low and soothing as I loosened my fingers, so he’d know I wasn’t tethering him to another uncomfortable situation. But to my surprise, he tightened his grip.
“I might be nervous. And not really know what I’m doing or how to do it right, but I want to.” His tone was firm, as if he needed to sell us both on this turn of events. “I like holding your hand.”
“I like holding your hand too.” No way was I letting go now. He was trying. And in that moment, it was everything. He was scared and he was trying anyway—for me. It was almost too much. “And you’re doing plenty right. Trust me.”
“I just want you to know that I’m not always going to be embarrassed about us.” He nodded sharply as the song crested, our own little movie-perfect moment as my heart did its best to leap over those protective barricades I kept erecting to present itself to Milo on a platter for the taking.
“There’s an us?” I had to joke so that I didn’t let myself get carried away by what his declaration meant. But he’d used an us and an always in the same sentence. And that was something.
“There’s an us.” He was emphatic, but then bit his lip. “Right?”
“Yeah. There is.” I squeezed his hand and tugged him closer. The velvet of my jacket brushed his bare arm. “And even when I wear my costume? I don’t want you embarrassed to be seen with me.”
“I’m not.”
I raised an eyebrow because I didn’t believe him.
“Seriously. Any issues I have are with myself. And sure, I don’t like eyeballs on me or being made fun of. But I’m working on not caring. Anyone would be lucky to have you.”
“Thanks.” Heart. Milo’s. Done deal. Delivered with two-day express shipping, no returns accepted. And right on cue, the music shifted to another love song, this one from a movie popular the year we graduated from high school. And for once the thought of high school didn’t make me nauseated and angry. The past was fading. Not gone. Not forgotten. But not as important, not as vital as this moment right here. “This song better?”
“Yeah.” Milo nodded but didn’t move.
“We don’t have to—”