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“I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”
I know he doesn’t mean the wedding but just with me in general. The thought sends warmth through me.
“May I cut in?” Ken asks as the next song begins.
Hardin frowns and looks at me, then back to his father. “Yeah, but only one song,” he grumbles.
Ken laughs and repeats his son’s words: “One song.” Hardin lets go of me, and Ken’s hand goes around my back. I swallow down the uneasy feelings I hold for him. He keeps the conversation light as we dance and my ill feelings are further muted as we laugh at an obviously drunk couple swaying back and forth next to us.
“Would you look at that?” Ken then says, his voice full of wonder.
I turn to see what he’s referring to and hear my own small gasp as I spot Hardin awkwardly swaying back and forth with Karen. She laughs as he steps on her white shoes, and he smiles an embarrassed smile. Tonight has been better than I could have dreamed.
After the song ends, Hardin quickly finds his way back to me, and Karen follows. We tell the happy bride and groom that we’re going to go, and we all exchange hugs once again, Hardin’s being maybe incrementally less stiff than earlier. Someone calls Ken’s name and he nods at them. He and Karen say their final goodbyes and thank us once again for coming to the wedding before disappearing into the crowd.
“Oh, my feet are killing me,” I say. This is the longest I have worn heels in my entire life and I am going to need a week to recover.
“Would you like me to carry you?” he says in a mocking, babylike voice.
“No.” I giggle.
As we are leaving the tent, Trevor walks by with Mr. Vance and Kimberly. Her smile is bright and she winks at me after looking Hardin up and down. I try to stifle my laugh and end up coughing.
“Did you save me a dance?” Mr. Vance teases Hardin.
“No, absolutely not.” Hardin laughs back at him.
“You’re leaving so soon?” Trevor looks at me.
“We have been here for a while, actually,” Hardin answers for me and pulls me away from them. “Nice to see you, Vance,” he calls over his shoulder as we walk out of the tent.
“That was rude.” I scold him when we get to his car.
“He was flirting with you. I am entitled to be as rude as I please.”
“Trevor wasn’t flirting; he was just being nice.”
Hardin rolls his eyes. “He wants you, I can tell. Don’t be so naïve.”
“Just be nice to him, please. I work with him and I don’t want any problems,” I say calmly. Tonight has been too good a night to ruin over his jealousy.
Hardin smirks evilly. “I could always just have Vance fire him.”
I can’t help but laugh at his cocky response. “You’re insane,” I snort.
“Only when it comes to you,” he says and pulls onto the street.
Chapter ninety-five
I love coming home!” I proclaim with a squeal as we walk into the apartment, only to then realize it’s freezing. “Except when you turn the heat off.” I shiver and he chuckles.
“I still haven’t figured that thing out yet; it’s too high-tech.”
As Hardin tries to figure out the thermostat, I grab a blanket off the bed and two from the closet and drop them in a heap on the couch, then go back to the bedroom. “Hardin!” I call.
“Coming!”
“Can you unzip me?” I ask as he comes in, looking frustrated from his handyman moment.
I flinch from the coolness of his fingertips against my bare skin. He apologizes, then hastily unzips the material, and it drops to the floor. I take my shoes off and find that the concrete floor is freezing as well. Hurrying to the dresser, I grab the warmest pajamas I can find.
“Here, let me give you something,” he says and walks to the closet, pulling out a gray hooded sweatshirt.
“Thanks.” I smile. I don’t know what it is about being in Hardin’s clothes that I love so much; it’s almost as if wearing them brings us closer. I never did this with Noah, except once when I borrowed a sweatshirt while camping with his family.
Hardin seems to like when I wear his clothes, too. He watches me slip the sweatshirt over my head with lustful eyes. I notice him struggling to get the tie off and I pad over to help him. He watches me silently as I pull the thin fabric from around his neck and set it aside before grabbing a pair of thick, fuzzy, purple socks that my mother got me for Christmas last year.
It dawns on me that Christmas is only three weeks away, and I start to wonder if my mother will still want me to come home. I haven’t been home since I left for college.
“What are those?” Hardin chuckles and flicks the balls of fur at the top of my ankle.
“Socks. Warm socks, to be exact.” I stick my tongue out.
“Nice,” he teases, then changes into sweatpants and a sweatshirt.
By the time we get back to the living room, the apartment has warmed up somewhat. Hardin turns the television on and lies on the couch, pulling me onto his chest and encasing us in the mound of blankets.
“I was wondering what you were doing for Christmas,” I say nervously. I don’t know why I feel shy asking him about this when we already live together.
“Oh well, I was going to wait until next week to bring it up, with everything being so chaotic over the last week, but since you did . . .” He smiles, his face holding the same nervousness that I feel. “I’m going to go home for the holiday, and I would like it if you would come with me.”
“Home?” I squeak.