Alex glares at me.
That just makes me laugh harder. “Come on, you know whatshe said isn’t true. You and I got close before she moved away. And even if she hadn’t left, we’d still be exactly where we are.”
Alex tips his head. “You really think that?”
My smile fades. This is dangerous territory, thewhat-ifs about us. What if we hadn’t sworn to be only friends. What if we hadn’t said things in those early days that allowed only for a path paved for friendship, when so much of what we said we wanted would cause a fork in a path paved for anything beyond that?
So often, when we get to this place ofwhat-ifs, I divert us with humor, goofiness, whatever sends us back on the straight and narrow. But I can’t tonight. Not when Alex is raw, when something hard is weighing on him, when I want him to know, as much as I can tell him, how much he means to me.
I wiggle my toes farther under his thigh, scooching close. “Iknowit, Alex.”
Alex wraps his hand around my ankle again, and this time it lingers. Soft, steady sweeps of his thumb along my skin. His fingertips grazing up and down just a few inches of my leg, but it feels like it’s everywhere, lighting me up.
His gaze is locked on mine. My heart pounds in my chest.
Slowly, Alex lifts his gelato cup and clinks it with mine. “Happy Friendiversary, Ted.”
I clink my cup with his. “Happy Friendiversary, Alec.”
“Not funny,” he says.
“A little funny?”
He shakes head. “Nope.”
I bite back a smile. “Cheers to…” I pause to do the mental math from the year of our fictional first meeting. “Twenty years? Is that right?”
A faint smile lifts the corner of his mouth. “That’s right.”
“Twenty. A milestone number. Should we take a photo? Make a little social media splash?”
His hand holding the gelato cup falters, like a plane bumping down with turbulence. His touch slips from my ankle.
My stomach knots. I feel like I’m right back where I was an hour ago, tossing and turning in bed. I believed Alex when he said it’s not my fault he’s upset, but I don’t feel like I’m helping himnotbe upset, either. I keep messing up. I’m still missing something.
“Forget it,” I tell him, smiling brightly. “Let’s get back on track.”
He rubs his shut eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “To what?”
“To us. To my toast.” I clink my gelato cup with his again and say, “Cheers to two years of friendship that feels like twenty, and to many more to come.”
I’ve barely finished my sentence when Alex tips his cup back, draining his gelato like he wishes it was something stronger. Following suit, I scoop up what’s left of mine and shovel it in. The result is an unattractively large mouthful. When I try to swallow, I gag.
Alex’s belly laugh rings through the quiet night air. He leans away from me, pulls out his phone, and snaps a picture.
“Awex!” I cover my chipmunk cheeks and glare at him. “No photos! And don’t waff. Owww.” I grimace, pressing a palm to my forehead. “Bwainfweeze.”
“Poor Ted.” Alex pulls me close, and my head falls into the crook of his neck. I sink into his touch, the heat of his body, the softness of his shirt, the warm spice clinging to his skin.
Alex rests his head on mine, then presses his thumb between my eyebrows. “Any better?” he asks.
I shake my head.
“Sorry I laughed,” he says.
“And took a photo.” There’s still a frigid golf ball of gelato stuck in my mouth. I sigh through my nose.
“Sorry about that, too. Just not sorry enough to delete it.” He adds, softer, “It sparks my joy, okay?”