Ugly Sweater Weather

"And tomorrow, we get to be in awe of the Rockettes. I've lived here for years, and I haven't seen them. I was so excited to snag the tickets. Have you been?"

"Once," I said, shrugging. "When I was a kid. I have vague memories of being mesmerized by how perfectly in sync they all were, but nothing specific."

"Well," she said, bumping her shoulder into me, "we can make some very specific memories together this time."

Oh, yes, we absolutely would.

If I had anything to say about it.CHAPTER FIVEDeaCrosby had been right about the Rockettes being mesmerizing. I'd never seen anything like it before in my life. Sure, I'd seen snippets on TV, but that was nothing like seeing it in person.

"I suddenly have an urge to take dance classes," I told Crosby as we walked out of the show, bodies close to try to avoid the crush of the crowd. "And I think we both know how much of a nightmare that would be."

"Hey, you're not that bad," he said, but he was trying to hold in his smile.

I was.

I absolutely was that bad.

We're talking what would happen if a robot and one of those balloon guys they put up at car dealerships got together and had a baby that grew up and tried to dance.

That was what I looked like when I tried.

"Liar," I shot at him, whacking him in the chest, getting an exaggerated oomph out of him.

It felt good for things to be back to normal again.

There seemed to be a couple of, I don't know, moments between us over the last few evenings. That stomach thing and his silky voice after decorating the tree. Then, well, there was the kiss.

It was supposed to be a little nothing, just the two of us playing along with a sweet, silly little tradition at the coffee shop. Just a smooch. The most casual of kisses. You could smooch a relative. It was as non-sexual as it came.

Sure, the kiss had been the length of your typical smooch, but then, well, there was his hand at my jaw, the slight demand of his lips, the strange shiver inside at the contact.

It certainly didn't feel non-sexual.

But then it was over, and I was left feeling a bit off-kilter, for lack of a better term.

Then, the rest of the evening while we were looking at the window displays, I couldn't shake the feeling that he was looking at me more than the lights themselves.

I tossed and turned later that night, getting grumbles from Lock, trying to calm my racing mind, trying to convince myself that I was just imagining things that weren't there. And it made sense, to an extent. It was Christmas. Things were always a little more stressful at work around holidays. There were bigger crowds everywhere, the pressure to find the perfect gifts for everyone, and, of course, my cancelled plans with my mom. I might have been brushing it off, but I had to admit I was still hurt and angry about it.

It was all just creating a weird cocktail of emotions, and I was overanalyzing things that didn't need to be analyzed at all.

And watching the Rockettes with Crosby just confirmed that.

Everything was normal.

Fun, light, casual.

"You caught me," he admitted, getting a grumble and a shove out of me.

"Hey! You're not supposed to agree with me. Even if it is true. That would be like me agreeing that your guitar playing makes ears bleed."

"No fair. I've only been practicing for six months. You, however, have had your whole life to learn how not to dance like all the various parts of your body aren't attached to one another," he said, linking his arm through mine to steer me through a thick throng of tourists, heads and cameras raised, completely unaware they were blocking foot traffic.

A lot of native New Yorkers resented the crowds around Christmas. But I could still very clearly remember my first Christmas in the city, the wonder I felt at seeing all the lights, the tree, experiencing things firsthand that I'd seen on TV or in movies since I was little. So I gave the tourists a little grace. I maybe even envied their first experiences, wishing I could have mine all over again.

"So, what are we doing tomorrow night?" Crosby asked, not unlinking our arms, even though we were past the crowds. I never would have given it a second thought before, but I was thinking twice now. I was noticing things I shouldn't have been. Like how warm it felt being close to him, how strong his body felt, how warm he was, how his profile belonged in art galleries.

I had no idea what was going on with me, but it needed to stop.

"Tomorrow, we are going to be hipsters."

"Yeah?" he asked, brows furrowing. "What are we going to be doing in Brooklyn?"