Page 5 of Baby, It’s Hot Inside

He glances over with a smile. “You always did like sweet things.”

“Why do you remember that?”

“I remember all kinds of things about you.”

His admission could mean just about anything, but the words—like the coffee—warm me from the inside.

“You’re different than how I remember.”

“Yeah?” he asks. “How’s that?”

“Do you not remember putting frogs in my locker freshman year? And not just any frogs, but all the partially dissected ones from biology lab.” I shudder at the memory. “I had to switch lockers because the formaldehyde smell never would go away.” I glance over at him and he’s unapologetically laughing. Still his hand is over mine. He squeezes me again.

“Or what about the time you dressed up like me for Halloween? You wore that ridiculous Ronald McDonald wig. My hair is not orange.”

He moves his hand from mine, but to wipe the tears leaking from his eyes as he continues to laugh.

“I was such a dick,” he finally says.

“Yes, yes you were.”

“I’m sorry, Gingerbread. I don’t even have an excuse other than to say that I was an idiot. That, and teasing you was the only way to get you to talk to me. Otherwise, it was the cold shoulder as if we’d never known each other. As if we hadn’t spent our childhoods climbing trees and riding our bikes and making plans for our secret clubs.”

I smile because I can’t not when I think about all those memories. I had a great childhood all because of my family, and because of Brock. We used to have so much fun together, then middle school happened.

He only teased me to get me to talk to him? Does he expect me to believe that?

A few minutes later, we get to the hospital and he leads me in. We ask a couple of questions at the front desk and are sent upstairs to cardiac-unit waiting room. While we’re in the elevator, Brock reaches over and grabs my hand, threading our fingers together. I watch the whole thing and can’t take my eyes off our joined hands. What is happening?

Then I think back to all the times he’d held my hand when we were kids. When we’d sit on the sand, after digging for crabs, and we’d just watch the waves roll in and out, he’d hold my hand. When we’d swing on the playground, he’d always hold my hand because if we got out of sync with our swinging it made things more wobbly and fun. His family was very affectionate. Huggers, cheek kissers, you know the types.

He’s just being supportive and friendly. That’s all this is. And the fact that my body is reacting is just confusion because of the emotional roller coaster with worrying about my dad. Also because I haven’t been with anyone since jackass Jeff.

We round the corner and find Brock’s parents sitting in the waiting room.

I drop his hand when I see his mother eyeing us suspiciously.

“Have you heard anything yet?” I ask.

She pulls me into her arms and tears prick at my eyes. See? Hugger. Also, damn moms and their magic tear-inducing hugs.

“He’s okay, sweetie. Causing all kinds of problems back there.” She smiles and there is no worry in her face at all. “They’re running some tests, but they’ve ruled out a heart attack, so that’s good.”

The relief washing through my body is almost too much, and I nearly fall into a seat behind me. I take a sip of the coffee again and relish the surge of sugar and caffeine as it hits my blood stream. I glance over at Brock who has sat beside me. “Thank you for this.” I hold up the travel mug.

He nods.

His dad stands, stretching, and I realize that he looks very much like an older version of Brock. More gray in his hair, a little padding around his middle, but tall and strong with those big man hands.

What in the actual hell is wrong with me that I’m checking out Mr. Daniels’s hands?

“If y’all are going to be here for a while, I think Judy and I will head down to the cafeteria and find some coffee of our own.” He holds his hand out to his wife.

“Yeah, go ahead. Thanks for coming with my mom.”

She squeezes my shoulder as they walk away.

“No heart attack is good,” Brock says in a low voice when we’re alone again.