Page 87 of Charlotte
His forehead hovered near hers, his breathing uneven, his wrapped hand still caught between them. The look in his eyes was not guarded now. It was tender, startled, and almost afraid of how much he had given away.
Lottie touched the edge of his hair once more, because she could, because he had let her, because she wanted to remember the shape of him in this one honest moment.
Then the back door banged open. Music, lamplight, and laughter spilled into the dusk.
“Peterson!” Luke called from the doorway. “There you are. Olsen says you know all the verses to ‘Shenandoah,’ and there’s a dollar riding on it.”
Peterson pulled away as if the sound had struck sense back into him. Luke stopped short when he saw them. “Oh. Beg pardon.”
Peterson stood. His wrapped hand moved toward his coat, but he stopped before tucking it fully away. He looked down at it, then at Lottie. Regret crossed his face so plainly her heart ached.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” he said quietly.
Lottie rose, too. “I did not do it alone.”
His jaw tightened. “I need to go in. We can’t do this again.”
The words landed between them with no gentleness at all. She had known he might still believe that. Hearing him say it was worse.
Inside the meeting hall, someone called for Luke, and he backed away with more haste than grace. Peterson looked toward the bright doorway.
“This only makes it harder.”
“For whom?”
“For both of us.”
“No,” she said. “Do not put my heart into your sentence unless I hand it to you.”
He looked back at her. She could hear Delly in that answer, but she did not mind.
“I cannot be what you think I am,” he said.
“You do not know what I think.”
“I know what you deserve.”
“Then perhaps you should ask me what I want.”
The fiddle began again inside. Boots stamped the floor in time with it. Peterson looked toward the door, then back at her. Whatever softness the kiss had drawn out of him was still there, but he was already trying to cover it.
“I need to go in,” he said.
“For the song?”
A faint, pained attempt at humor touched his mouth. “For the dollar.”
He stepped past her. At the threshold, he paused with his wrapped right hand still visible at his side.
“Lottie.” His voice broke.
“Yes?”
He did not finish the thought.
He did not say whatever had brought her name to his mouth.
After a moment, he only touched two fingers to his hat brim, though he was not wearing his hat, and went inside. Lottie remained behind the meeting hall with the dusk around her and the warmth of his mouth still on her lips.
