Page 88 of All At Once

A smile lifted her lips. “He’ll be fine.”

“You’re saying that now because you’ve got him wrapped around your little finger. Just wait.” He shifted upright to accommodate the server setting a basket of house-cut fries on the table. Removing his arm from behind Caitlin, he flashed a grin at the college-aged young woman. “Thank you.”

“No problem. I’m Leylani.” She spread a hand over her chest, a friendly, open expression lighting her face. Casting a look over the table, she flicked a hand at Tick’s almost-empty bottle. “I’ll get you another beer. Y’all need anything else?”

Tick slanted an inquiring look at Caitlin, and she shook her head, reaching for her San Pellegrino. He graced Leylani with that charming smile of his. “We’re good.”

As Leylani departed, he dipped a fry in the accompanying aioli and took a bite, brows dipping together in pleasure. “Oh, man. Try that.”

Taking the fry he offered was easier than putting him off. Sea salt and garlic blended with the soft, hot potato, and she touched her fingers to her lips, grateful for the simple moment. “That is good.”

He shifted his chair so he was cater-corner to her, facing the street and the ocean beyond. Snagging another fry, he nodded at Leylani as she set down a fresh Sam Adams and slipped away. “You know, I quit beating myself up about Panama City a while back, but sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I hadn’t gone back to Athens, if I’d gone to the Tradewinds that night.”

“It was incredibly crowded.” She pursed her lips and lifted her San Pellegrino. Even now, she could taste the desperation from that night, scanning the seething mass of dancing bodies, knowing she’d never find him in the crush, as badly as she’d wanted to. He hadn’t been there to find, though. “The band was terrible.”

“Smartass.” He pinched her thigh, a light rebuke. “You know what I mean.”

Of course she did. She rolled a shoulder, an irritable motion. “We both know what would have happened. We’d have ended up in bed once more, perhaps playing at a relationship neither of us was ready for, and my unresolved issues would have destroyed everything.”

He eyed her, a slight scowl furrowing his brow. “I think I disagree.”

She lifted a hand in dismissal, an unspoken fine-feel-free-to-disagree. “How is this productive?”

His expression closed, and he slumped in his chair, not his relaxed and boneless posture, but the frustrated pose she caught glimpses of in testy department meetings. “Tell me what would be productive tonight, Cait.”

“Probably not anything.” Tension raced up the back of her neck, settling in a dull ache at the base of her skull. With her bottle, she gestured at the relaxed, happy patrons around them. “This wasn’t a good idea.”

His mouth an impossibly thin line, he fixed her with a steady gaze. “Yeah.”

Silence pulsed around them, underscored by a mournful Lucinda Williams cover and laughing chatter from other tables.

He rubbed a hand over his jaw. “We should talk about it.”

She darted a startled look at him. Talk about it? Here? Now? A shudder worked over her.

“I wasn’t going to bring it up until we were back home, once we had the girls off to camp.” He made another pass across his jaw. “But I don’t think we should wait.”

She brushed her hair behind her ear, fingers trembling. Swallowing hard, she pushed a raw whisper past her lips. “I don’t know what to say.”

His gaze, gentle despite his frustration, lingered on her face, even though she couldn’t look at him dead on. “Is it me? Something I’m doing or not doing? Something you need me to do?”

“No.” She shook her head, throat tight and aching. “It’s me.”

Because it was always her.

“Hey.” He cupped her nape, softly stroking the base of her skull. “We’re okay. And we’re doing something about it. We’ll be good.”

Her lashes fell. How to tell him she’d been trying to do something about it for weeks now?

“Come on.” He folded an easy grasp about her wrist and tugged her with him to the small dance floor.

She blinked against a hot prickle at the backs of her eyes. “Tick.”

“Trust me, Falconetti.” He spun her into his arms, but not the traditional waltz hold. Instead, he linked his hands at the small of her back. She folded her arms about his neck, her face nestled in the curve of his shoulder, breathing him in, warm and clean and familiar. His jaw brushed her temple, and she leaned into him, some of the tension bleeding away. Eyes closed, she simply rested against him, allowing him to lead their limited movement on the dance floor.

He trailed a fingertip along her lower spine, pure comfort in the easy touch, and she exhaled, a long, shaky breath. She slid one hand down to rest at his clavicle. “This is productive.”

At her temple, his lips curved in a smile. “I’m glad.”