Summer by Karen Kingsbury

composure. “It’s just . . . it’s taken a lot of work.”
    John blinked. “Meaning . . . ?”
    She covered her mouth, stifling another round of giggles. “Sorry.” She forced a straight face, but her eyes still twinkled. “Meaning we’ve been doing this—” she looked around as if the answer hung somewhere in the air above their table—“whatever it is we’ve been doing, for almost two years. Between your kids and mine and the busyness of our own lives . . .” She shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess it feels like it took a long time to get here.”
    “Here?” Understanding dawned on the horizon of John’s heart. He hesitated. “At a place where I can tell you how I feel?”
    “Yes.” Her tone was tender, blending with what remained of the humor from a moment earlier. She reached across the table and took his hands. “I wasn’t laughing at you, just at us. Two adults in our sixties afraid to tell each other how we feel.”
    The feel of her hands around his did strange things to him. She wasn’t being critical or complaining. Only recognizing the situation for what it was. He cocked his head. “It’s complicated.”
    “That’s true.” Her laughter dropped off. She paused, studying him. “When we dreamed about our separate stories all those years ago, we never planned that the main characters would be missing.”
    “No.”
    “But here we are.” Elaine gave his hands a squeeze and then released them. “And I couldn’t agree with you more, John Baxter. I enjoy being with you also.”
    Long into the meal John wondered about her statement, about her laughter at his admission that he enjoyed spending time with her. He’d nearly lost her friendship once—when her closeness had scared him away. But now, in light of her reaction, he wasn’t afraid of her. He was afraid of himself, afraid he might’ve given her the permanent impression that he wasn’t interested in her outside of being her friend.
    When the fact was, that had changed. He was interested and getting more interested all the time.
    Their meal was unhurried and marked with easy laughter over Cole’s latest challenge to his cousin Maddie—that he’d hit more home runs this season than her—and concern about Dayne and Katy and how their participation in a reality show might actually hurt their relationship more than it would create a peace offering for the paparazzi.
    When they were finished, John drove Elaine home and walked her up the brick path to her house. He held her hand, the way he did more often these days. It would be an early night; he had work in the morning, and she had to make phone calls for a charity auction she was helping chair. Still, John didn’t want the day to slip away without his saying something to clarify how he’d come across at dinner.
    It was almost sunset, and April’s mild afternoon had given way to a cool breeze. The smells of roses and fresh-cut grass lingered in the air between them as they reached the door. John’s heart beat hard against his chest, and he thought about telling her later.
    But before he could bid her a quick good-bye and hurry down the walk, she turned to him. “Your hands are sweaty.”
    Heat shot through his veins and into his cheeks. He let go of her fingers and wiped his palms on his pants. “Sorry.”
    “It’s okay.” Elaine searched his eyes. Her voice held a calm that gave him the courage to stay. “What’s on your mind?”
    John swallowed. Maybe he wasn’t ready to share his feelings. Maybe they weren’t feelings at all but fleeting thoughts. But then why did he want nothing more than to hold her hand again?
    She was waiting patiently for his answer, her lips slightly curved in a smile that told him perhaps she already knew what he was trying to find the nerve to say.
    He cleared his throat. “Earlier, when I told you I enjoyed being with you . . .”
    Elaine took hold of his hands and ran her thumbs along the sides of them. “I didn’t mean to