Exerpt
From The Gingerbread House
by R.M. Whitaker
“Please, stay,” he says.
The longing in his voice makes my breath catch. I meet his eyes, surprised at the warmth in them. It’s enough to melt me, but I don’t understand why, after I butted into his personal life and then looked on awkwardly while he and his dad shared such a vulnerable moment with one another.
“I don’t want to intrude,” I repeat quietly.
“It’s a comfort to have you here,” he insists just as quietly. “We’re not really… good at this kind of thing…”
By this kind of thing, I can only assume he means feeling things without making light of them.
“I don’t think Dad’s seen a woman in the house since… You don’t know how different it feels having you here. Please, stay.”
He’s still holding my hand. I feel rooted to the spot. Even if I wanted to leave, my legs are a useless jelly, my chest frozen, suspended in place. But I don’t want to leave. I want to stay with Sky. I always want to stay with him. With the warmth of his hand swallowing mine, and the sincerity in his eyes striking me dumb, I feel myself nod. “Ok,” I manage.
He nods his gratitude, gives my hand a light squeeze, and releases me. Our fingers graze slowly apart, making my fingertips tingle.
It takes a moment for me to collect myself after Sky returns to the living room. He’s a good friend, I remind myself. I’m here for him as his friend.
