Page 45 of What He Doesn't Know

And then, just like I’d secretly hoped all night, we’d end up at his piano.

“It is my mother,” I reminded him. “Can’t imagine her ever not wanting to outdo herself.”

“I remember when it was just ten items to bid on,” Reese said, his eyes surveying the tables. I took a moment to look at him then, to take in his long hair, his tired eyes. He looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks.

“Me, too.”

Reese shook his head with a lazy smile, tucking his hands in his pockets. Then, he looked at me.

I never knew so much could be said with a look.

Sure, I was in tune with Cameron, or at least, I had been. We could share a look and communicate a hundred different things. But with Reese, there were no words behind the gaze. There were feelings. There was heat, and concern — want and denial. And I was like a moth drawn to that flame, wanting so badly to see inside it, to figure out how it burns, to live within its warmth.

But I knew to touch it was to die.

I’d been avoiding him since the night we’d gone up Mt. Washington on the Incline, barely saying more than a few words to him each day. And earlier that afternoon, he’d burst into my room like he was angry, like he was about todemandI speak to him — but then he just left.

I’d nearly forgotten about that, especially after going home to everything Cameron had surprised me with. That had been the thought taking up the most space in my head. But now that Reese stood before me again, his face tired and worn, I wondered how he’d been. I wondered how he felt, what he’d been thinking.

But I couldn’t ask.

The distance I’d placed between us was a safety net, and it was one I intended to keep in place.

“Thanks for helping out, by the way,” I said, breaking the spell and putting space between us. “What does she have you working on?”

“I’m writing out the tags for the bidding items,” he answered with a grin. “I knew that whole calligraphy hobby I’d gotten into would be good for something someday.”

I swallowed. “Oh, so you’ll be here with me?”

“All night.”

Forcing a smile, I pulled out the first basket, eyeing the items on the table to figure out which I would pair together first. “Awesome. Guess we should get to work.”

And that’s exactly what we did.

Other than the music Reese had put on for us, we worked in silence. I would pile the baskets high and neat, wrapping them with cellophane and ribbon and flowers in a way I knew Mom would approve of. Then, Reese would take his time writing out a description card and a bidding starting amount. We worked in tandem, in perfect rhythm and timing. As soon as I could finish bundling up a new basket, Reese would put the final touches on the card he’d been writing, and then I’d pass the new basket over.

Reese tried to start conversation a few times, and I’d answer his questions or listen to his stories, but then the words would die down and only the music existed again. I assumed it was the music on his phone, played on shuffle, because none of it tied together. One minute we would be listening to a classical symphony, and the next, a metal band.

The minutes turned to an hour easily, and I found myself lost in the methodical task of it all. This was easy for me — using my mind and my hands to accomplish a goal. It was what I lived for, like ticking items off a to-do list or flipping through the pages of a book until the very end.

Mom loved the people part of hosting, I loved the event planning.

“You’re quiet tonight,” Reese mused after a while, his eyes glancing up at me briefly from where he was writing out a new card.

I untied the bow I’d just fastened, wrapping it again until the loops were perfectly symmetrical. “Just working.”

“Can’t talk while you work?”

“The music is good,” I said, shrugging. “Sometimes it’s nice to just work and zone in.”

“You always have loved projects.”

Reese watched me then, his hand hovering above the ink like there was more to that sentence than just what I’d heard.

“Where’s Cameron tonight?”

I paused, thanking the timing of that question. It looked like I was just inspecting the ribbon again, not like I was wishing I wasn’t alone in a room with Reese Walker.