Emmy
Pas de chat [pah / duh / shah] v—Like a cat stepping
“You never take off your shoes.” Rhys pulls out the last of my bobby pins, and my hair cascades down my back. I meant to change into comfy clothes after church, but Rhys was already here when I got home, so I’m still in my black dress and ballet flats.
“Of course I do!” I shut the blue Book of Mormon in my lap and set it aside. It’s clear neither of us is focused on studying for our BOM midterm anymore.
“Let me clarify.” He runs his hands through my hair and watches the strands fall through his fingers. “You never take off your shoes around me.”
He’s right. I don’t. And if I can help it, I never will. I stare at him with a blank expression, hoping he’ll let the subject drop.
“No response?” he asks, amused.
Of course he doesn’t let it drop. He never lets anything drop. I shrug, and his hand falls from my hair. He leans toward me, and I back away. “What are you doing?”
“Getting rid of your mental block.” He lunges at my feet.
I stand up and run into the kitchen, half giggling, half terrified he’s going to pry my shoes off and see my abused feet.
He runs after me.
“Don’t even think about it!” I stand on one side of the kitchen island, and Rhys stands on the other.
“Let me get this straight.” He takes a slow step toward me. “You’ll hold my hand, you’ll kiss me, but you refuse to take off your shoes in front of me?”
I give him a definitive nod. “Pretty much, yep.”
He chuckles. “I can’t tell you how weird that is.” He prowls around the island like a cat stalking its prey. I fake left, and he goes right, jetting around the island so fast I barely get away.
Squealing, I run back to the couch and sit on my feet. He all but pounces on me.
“Rhys! No, don’t. Please!” I scream between fits of laughter.
Heavy footfalls pound down the stairs, distracting Rhys.
“Get off of her!” Evie shouts, a curling iron clenched between her white knuckles.
“Whoa!” Rhys jumps to his feet and holds his hands up in the air. “It’s not what it looks like.”
Evie raises the curling iron higher.
I scramble off the couch and stand protectively in front of Rhys. “We’re playing. I’m okay.”
“You were screaming!” Evie glares at Rhys.
“He was trying to take off my shoes.”
Her eyes sink to my shoes, then move to Rhys before finally landing on me. “Your shoes?”
“Yeah. I, uh, don’t want him to see my mangled dancer feet.”
Evie lowers the curling iron to her side.
Rhys clears his throat behind me. “You won’t take off your shoes because you think I won’t like your feet?”
“Umm, maybe?”
Evie rolls her eyes and trudges back up the stairs shaking her head.
Rhys steps closer. His fingers brush the hair off my shoulders, and his breath tickles my cheek. “You think your mangled dancer feet are going to scare me away?”
“Yes!”
He lets out a little puff of air, not quite a laugh but not a grunt either, just an amused, breathy chuckle. “It’s going to take a lot more than your feet to break us up,” he whispers.
As I turn to face him, his grip on my waist tightens and my stomach free-falls—the same way it does when I take center stage for a performance and the spotlight is about to turn on. His lips touch mine so gently I barely feel it. I close my eyes, expecting to feel the pressure of his kiss, but it doesn’t come again. When I open my eyes, he’s watching me with a grin.
Did Evie turn up the heater? “It’s hot in here. Like insanely hot, right?” I fan myself with one hand, and his grin grows. “I think we should take a walk.”
He looks out the front window into the pitch-black night and raises an eyebrow. “It’s freezing outside. Literally. I think it’s supposed to snow tonight.”
“Snow is good. I like snow. Don’t you like snow? Everybody likes snow, right?”
He sucks his bottom lip into his mouth as if to stop himself from laughing at my discomfort. “Sure, angel. Let’s take a walk. But you should change your shoes in case it snows.” His eyes move down to my feet. “I can help if you want.” He winks.
“Yeah, I think I’ll pass.” I inch around him, then dash up the stairs. I slip off my church shoes and pull on a warm pair of ankle booties.
Before I go back downstairs, I walk to Evie’s room to let her know Rhys and I are leaving.
Evie’s door is closed, but I can still hear her heated phone conversation. It’s probably Q. Things have still been strained between them. She hasn’t gone out with him every night, and his phone calls have become less frequent. I don’t know what’s going on, but she deserves someone who will treat her better. Instead of interrupting her conversation completely, I call “Be back later” through the door and then jog down the stairs.
Rhys is sitting on the couch lacing his boots. A stair squeaks under my foot, and he glances up. “All set?”
“Almost.” I grab my carnation-pink coat off a hook by the door. I’ve always loved the black-and-white polka-dot lining, and I’m excited it’s finally cold enough to wear it.
Rhys stands from the couch and walks over to help me into it.
“Thank you,” I say.
“My pleasure.”
As soon as we open the door, a gust of wind bursts into the room. I jump back, and Rhys slams the door. “You sure you want to go for a walk?” he asks.
My eyes are drawn to his kissable lips. “Walk. Yes. We should walk.”
Rhys lets out a deep breath. “Mexicans aren’t built for cold weather.” He opens the door, and we step outside. “I must really like you,” he mumbles.
“I. H-have an. Idea,” I say between shivers.
“Does it have anything to do with a heater? The indoors, maybe? Because I want you to know I’d be okay with that idea.”
I nudge him with my elbow, and he catches it and tucks me into his side. He smells like something masculine and clean. Like Rhys. I take another deep breath.
“No,” I say. “I was thinking we could go tunnel singing.”
“At the risk of sounding redundant, I fully support going back inside.”
“Have you ever been?” I ask him.
“Inside? Yes, I have. It’s wonderful. Warm. Toasty. Very hospitable.”
I tilt my head back until I’m staring into his dark-chocolate eyes. “I meant tunnel singing.”
He schools a playful grin. “I can’t say that I have.”
“We have to go, then. But we’ll have to drive.”
“Oh, thank heaven. Is this tunnel heated?”
“No. It’s outside in front of the Marriott Center.” I thought everyone went freshman year. It’s like a rite of passage. “You’ve really never been?”
“Do I look like a singer?”
My eyes narrow. “Is this a trick question? Because I vaguely remember you asking me a similar question the night you took me dancing, and it turns out you can seriously dance.”
“I feel like we keep having this conversation,” he says. “For the record, I asked you if I looked like a ballet dancer. You said no. I never said I couldn’t dance.”
“And I repeat: se-man-tics.”
His laugh is deep. “I don’t sing.”
“Not even in the shower? At church?”
“Not even in the shower.”
I shake my head. “You’re impossible.”
“You love me though.” He freezes, and I suck in a breath.
I like him. I like him a lot. But to love someone, you have to know more about them. You can’t fall in love with someone in one month. Can you? I didn’t think so, but Lucy did, and so has Evie . . . Maybe I’ve always just been too focused on ballet to fall so quickly. Maybe being in the corps has been a good thing after all.
“That’s not . . . I mean I do like you.” His eyes dart from me to the ground to his truck.
I try not to laugh at his discomfort. There’s only room for so much awkward in one relationship, so I give him a free pass. “Which is why we’re going to get in your truck and drive to the tunnel by the Marriott Center and sing.”
He exercises his jaw like he wants to say something, and I giggle.
“You can’t let things drop when you didn’t even want to pick them up in the first place. I like you, and I’m pretty sure you like me too. Let’s just . . . be.”
He studies me for a long moment. “Be. Right. I can be.”
“Good. Me too. Let’s go be at tunnel singing.” I nod toward his truck, and he leaps into action, opening the passenger-side door for me. As soon as we’re both inside, he turns on the heat. Unfortunately, the truck is cold and icy air blows out of the vents. He shuts off the air, and we drive toward the tunnel, shivering. I rub my hands together, but it doesn’t help.
Rhys reaches for my hand, brings it to his mouth, and blows. His warm breath starts a fire in my hands that ignites my entire body. I have a feeling being isn’t going to last long.