While this photograph is nice enough, I fail to see the point of using advanced technology for such pedestrian purposes. Why did you share it? Yours in good health, Frederick
I stared at him. “You can’t post that,” I said, at the exact same time he hit send and the message posted.
“Why not?” Frederick sounded genuinely confused. “You just said people could leave whatever messages they wanted on Instagram.”
“Not when you’re signed in with my account.” I batted Frederick’s hands away from the keyboard, ignoring his protests. “Delete it. That was a mean thing to say.”
“It was not. I was simply asking for clarification.”
“It was mean. Sam will think you’re a dickhead.” Of course, Sam already didn’t like Frederick. I still hadn’t explained why I’d fled this apartment and showed up on his doorstep with no notice, or why I went back to Frederick just as quickly. Knowing my history with terrible living situations and terrible men, Sam was almost certainly drawing the worst conclusions.
The pensive look on Frederick’s face suggested he’d somehow guessed what I was thinking. “Your friend already has plenty of reasons to mistrust me,” he said. “If I were him, I probably wouldn’t trust me very much, either. I suppose you’re right. I do not want to make matters worse by insulting his choice in breakfast photography.”
“No.” I shook my head. “You don’t.”
“Very well,” he said. “You can take the comment down.” He closed his eyes, his long, thick eyelashes fanning out along the tops of his cheeks. I found myself transfixed by them, and by the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathed.
“I . . . was once known for my straightforward demeanor,” he said, his voice just above a whisper. “It was an admirable trait among men at the time. I gather that now, one must mince words often in order not to offend.” He paused again. “None of this is intuitive to me. I feel I shall forever be a bumbling idiot in public.”
His shoulders slumped, making him look so sad my heart ached. The enormity of what he faced, what he was trying to do—and everything he had lost over the long centuries of his life—hung unspoken and heavy in the air between us.
“I’ll do what I can to help.” My words, the offer I was making, felt inadequate. Too small.
Slowly, he opened his eyes, a quiet smolder in them that hadn’t been there before.
“I know you will.” A beat. “Will you show me your Instagram account?”
I blinked at him. “What did you say?”
He frowned. “Did you not hear me?”
“I heard you. I’m just surprised.”
“Why?”
“I didn’t think you wanted to look at Instagram.”
“I don’t want to look at Sam’s breakfasts on Instagram,” he corrected. “But if it’s so important I learn about social media and the internet I would at least like to see something interesting.”
I hesitated.
“My account’s boring.”
“I am certain it’s not.”
“Instagram has zillions of hilarious cat reels,” I hedged, my cheeks going hot. “Let’s look at one of those.”
I leaned forward to click on one of my favorite cat accounts. The inside of my arm brushed up against his forearm in the process, sending an involuntary shiver down my spine. I closed my eyes against the unexpected rush of sensation that coursed through me, just from that.
“Cassie.”
Tentatively, he placed one of his hands on top of mine, stopping my scrolling—and my breathing—instantly. His hand was cool, his palm smooth against my knuckles. I glanced down at our hands, marveling at the contrast between them as I fought to steady my breathing. Warm, and cool. Small, and large. Tanned, and pale.
It was the first time he had ever intentionally touched me. This seemed to occur to him in the same moment it occurred to me, and it surprised him just as much. His eyes widened, pupils dilating as he regarded me.
It took an embarrassing amount of willpower not to twine our fingers together, just to see what that would look like, too.
“Please stop distracting me.”
Frederick’s voice was at my ear, tickling the little hairs at my nape, causing my forearms to erupt in a riot of gooseflesh.
I swallowed, trying to focus on the cat on my laptop screen. The kitty was cute, and really good at snowboarding. He deserved my full attention.
“Distracting you?” I breathed. I could barely hear my voice over the rush of blood in my ears.