Page 17 of Afterglow (Ottawa Regents #3)

What About the Hand Holding?

Fletcher

“It says here it’s illegal in Ontario to pluck wildflowers from where they naturally grow.”

“Damn it,” Bea snaps. “Now what?”

“We could choose another idea.”

“Wait—I’ve got it!” She hustles to the foyer and shoves her feet into slip-on sneakers. “Come on, come on.”

“Where are we going?”

“Just drive, I’ll show you.” We race down the hallway and into the pickup. “Take Rideau toward 99.” She giggles, the mischievous, childlike glee making her cheeks go rosy. For the next ten minutes, I’m too busy admiring her to notice we arrive at a familiar neighborhood. “Okay, stop here.”

The hypnosis clears. I squint and look up through the passenger window. “What are we doing at Gabe and Wade’s?”

“You’ll see in a second,” she assures. Once we park, Bea leads me by the hand to the security desk. If my hand is in hers, I’d follow her anywhere.

She addresses the guard at the desk with a honeyed lilt. “Hi there, Stephen . How’s it going?”

Stephen’s response is delayed while he side-eyes her. “I’m doing well, and you?”

“I’m good, I’m good.” She claps a hand to the desktop. “I have a little problem, and I know you can help me out.”

“How so?”

“Yes! You see, my friends, Gabe Finch and Wade Boehner live in the penthouse here. And I’m supposed to water their plants while they’re vacationing in Florida, but—” she facepalms— “Gabe forgot to leave me a key card.”

“I see.”

“Their plants are so precious to them, and it’s been so sunny lately, I don’t want the ones on the rooftop to dry out. If you could let me and my friend here up to their penthouse?—”

“Do you have ID?”

She pulls it from the small wallet stuffed in her purse. “I’m on the list. So’s Fletcher” —her thumb points to me— “he’s friends with Gabe and Wade, too. In fact, he and Wade play hockey together.”

Stephen is still skeptical, switching his gaze between me and Behraz. “Which hockey team?”

“Ottawa’s team. The Regents.”

“Your ID, sir?”

The keyboard clicks as he searches our names on their safe-to-enter list.

“You can go up.”

“See? I told you.”

“Follow me.” Stephen lets us through the security turnstile and guides us to the elevators.

After a silent ride to the top floor, he uses a master key to open the penthouse.

“Thank you, Stephen!” Behraz sings, waving him off at the elevator. She then turns to me. “Flower picking time.”

I’m astounded by how easy it was for her to convince him to let us up. Behraz could charm the pants off just about anyone, while I’m about as exciting and charming as a cabbage.

“Over here, Fletcher!” Big swooping motions beckon me to the outdoor space. I haven’t been here for a while. Or maybe not this section.

Barefoot, she circles the large, raised beds that create a square perimeter around the fire pit and patio seating.

Flowers in every color, shape, and height grow from them amongst tall grasses.

Bea pokes around in a storage container and pulls out pruning shears and a pair of small scissors.

“Here.” She hands me the scissors. “How about you make me a bouquet, and I make you one?”

I agree. “What about the hand holding?”

She laughs, and it’s the most glorious sound. “That happens after we pick flowers and make bouquets.”

Three flowers come together in my grip. “Does this count as a bouquet?”

“It’s been, like, two minutes.”

I reek of impatience and desperation, and I don’t care if she knows it.

I want to hold her hand, as quickly and for as long as possible.

I choose flowers that remind me of her. They’re various shades of pink: the rosiness of her cheeks, her cherry blossom lips.

“Alright, I think I’m done.” I present the bouquet to her from behind my back. “What do you think?”

“How cute! I love them.” Behraz hugs them to her chest. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“And here are yours,” she offers.

It’s a much better-looking bunch than mine. “Gorgeous.”

For a second, she has me going, thinking she’s walking toward me, but she backpedals and returns with a long hose. “We do have to water these, though. Gabe would be so sad if they didn’t make it through July.”

We alternate soaking the planters and each other’s feet. The wind accidentally carried the spray when Behraz had control of the hose more than a few times.

“Okay, that’s enough,” I conclude. She squeals in delight as I wrangle the hose and spray nozzle from her grasp. “Can I hold your hand now?”

“Since you asked so nicely…” Her eyes glint with mischief. “Yes.”

“Finally,” I whisper. She holds them in front of her, and both sets of my fingers land on her wrists, savoring the climb up her palm and pushing between the gaps until they interlock. And all’s right with the world.

“Happy now?” Behraz lifts her chin to glance up at me.

“Yes, very. I’ve never held anyone’s hand like this.”

“What?” she says through a giggle.

“I haven’t.”

A smirk follows the roll of her eyes. “Next, you’ll say that you’ve never been kissed.”

There’s a lull. It breaks with her gasp. “I haven’t,” I admit.

Bea’s mouth, the pretty thing, drops open cartoonishly, and it’s the closest I’ve ever gotten to stealing a kiss.

“You’ve never been kissed? What about…?” She doesn’t finish the question before I deny with a shake of my head. Because I know what she means to ask, and it’s true.

Yep. I, Fletcher Donovan, am a virgin.

“A virgin,” she echoes as if responding to my inner thought.

I fixate on our twined hands. My thumb rubs against a small stretch of flesh where her left hand’s third finger meets the knuckle. “I’m pathetic, I know.”

“You’re not pathetic,” Bea argues. “I’m just a slut.”

“Don’t say that.”

Her grasp on my hands deepens. “I’m joking, but I’m kinda not. I know who I am, in this part of my life anyway. I know what I like and who I’ve been with, and I’m not ashamed of it. You shouldn’t be ashamed of not being with anyone, either.”

I return a slow series of silent nods.

“I’m not good at a lot of things, but…I can teach you how. If you want.”

If I want? I want nothing and no one but her. If only she knew how badly and for how long. “Teach me?” If I haven’t turned into a tomato already, I’m about to.

“Though there’s one tiny little problem that would make it a little tricky.” Our clasped hands swing between us. “The thing is, Fletcher…”

She sucks in a long breath and releases it through her nose.

“I’ve got the hugest crush on you.”

Timeout. Holy shit. Holy, holy, holy shit.

Behraz Irani, woman of my dreams and filthy fantasies, has a crush on me?