Page 19 of Every Single Broken Piece
“Sure.”
She looks at the half-empty bottle of wine and our glasses. “You don’t have to drink it. I have sweet tea and sodas.”
“Sweet tea would be great.” I smile as I climb to my feet and pick up the glasses. “I’m not much of a wine drinker.”
“Me too. Jill left the bottle here.” When she sees I don’t recognize the name, she explains, “Jill and her daughter, Holly, live over there.” She points to the light blue painted house to our right.
“I’ve seen them around,” I mention.
When we walk to the back door, I begin to feel a little antsy. Everything I’ve done today is far out of my comfort zone.
We step into the kitchen, and I place the glasses in the sink before looking at Kelcie.
She waves her hand over six dishes sitting on the counter. “Pick one.”
I move closer, and when I’m standing beside her, I realize she’s much shorter than me. The top of her head barely reaches the middle of my chest.
She smells like flowers.
She opens all the containers, and I gesture at the cheesy chicken casserole.
“Good choice,” she says. “I love cheese.”
Suddenly, there’s a flash of extreme pain on her face, and when her breath hitches and speeds up, I don’t hesitate and place my hand on her lower back.
I keep my tone as gentle as possible as I murmur, “Just breathe through it.”
She closes her eyes, and while a thin layer of sweat beads over her forehead, her lips move as she silently counts until the wave of grief passes.
As soon as she’s regained control over her breathing, she whispers, “Sorry.”
“No need to apologize.”
She moves away from me and takes two plates from one of the cupboards.
Only then do I realize I touched her and felt no disgust. Shock ripples through me, and I look down at my palm and fingers, thinking how warm and fragile she felt.
When I met my ex-wife, touching her didn’t fill me with disgust but instead only made me uncomfortable. It was something I could live with.
But that’s not the case with Kelcie.
My palm itches with a need to touch her again, to see if it will feel the same. It’s unnerving as fuck for reasons I can’t quite fathom.
“Shoot. You touched me,” Kelcie says. My gaze flicks to hers. “I overheard you telling Jordan you don’t touch people. I’m sorry. Are you okay?”
She just had a panic attack, and not even seconds later, she’s more worried about me than herself?
When I keep staring at the woman who’s having the weirdest effect on me, her features tense with more concern.
“Levi?”
I shake my head and clear my throat before I reply, “I’m okay.”
“I won’t take offense if you need to wash your hands.”
God, she’s so sweet.
The corner of my mouth lifts. “I don’t need to do that.”
