Page 85 of Two-Step
I give a half-shrug. “I meant it to be funny. I mean, I’m serious, but serious can be funny.”
His wry grin is priceless. “My uncle and his elbow might disagree.”
My laughter echoes over the water. Beau beams.
I bite my lip. What a sight.
“You won’t let me fall in?” I double-check.
His eyes are brighter than sunlight on water. “I won’t let you fall in.”
My shoulders relax just a little, and Mica takes it as a sign that we’re ready to go. He pulls the lead, but I anchor my heels. “Whoa, boy,” I caution. Then I look back at Beau. “What if Mica sees a turtle or a snake or something and takes off after it? He’ll go flying and I’ll fall in.”
Without another word, Beau takes the leash from me with one hand and grabs my hand with the other.
“I won’t let you fall in,” he says for the third time.
And with his hand wrapped tight around mine, I believe him.
Chapter Seventeen
BEAU
We start off slow.Despite my promises, Iris is still scared. There’s no hiding it. I can feel her hand trembling in mine.
I squeeze tighter.
She squeezes back.
Bon Dieu,but this feels good.
We step onto the boardwalk, her dog in the lead with his nose to the ground and his tail whipping back and forth. No telling what he’s scented. Raccoons. Nutria. Opossum. I keep his leash taut. I’m not letting Iris fall in, but her dog’s not going in either.
Not that he would. He seems pretty smart and used to being in the natural world.
But we take it slow.
“Oh my God,” Iris mutters under her breath, somewhere between terror and awe. The cypress swamp is pretty awe-inspiring. There’s just enough of a breeze to lift the Spanish moss, giving the trees the illusion that they are ladies’ shawls, swaying in a slow dance.
But when I look at Iris, she doesn’t have her eyes on the trees or the swaying moss or the surface of the water. She’s watching her feet, hawk-eyeing each step.
I stop.
Gripping my hand tighter, she looks up at me. Her pupils are pinpricks of fear and focus. “Why’d you stop?” Panic cinches her voice.
“You’re watching your feet.”
She blinks. “So?”
“And you’re missing an amazing view.”
She blinks twice. “I’m afraid if I don’t watch my footing, I’ll trip on one of these boards and—”
“You think I’d let anything bad happen to you?”
The question comes from some subterranean place in me. Like an underground cave I’ve never explored but I know exists. It’s been there all along.
Right next to the conviction that I want her to fear nothing when she’s with me.
