“I thought you didn’t like me, that we were rivals, neighborhood enemies…”
“You’re annoying, cutesy with this dorky clown aura, and irritatingly wonderful in some weird psychotic way.”
“I’ll take it,” he said softly, giving her a wary smile, and felt his heart skip a beat as she smiled back.
“I don’t know why…”
“Because I think I like the idea of us much more than just being alone,” he admitted in a hushed voice, realizing what he was saying aloud in so many words. “I’m bored without my dance partner, and my stupid kettle misses you.”
“The kettle, huh?”
“Oh yeah,” he chuckled softly, feeling weirdly exposed yet confident enough to share his thoughts with her despite what happened. “You know that little neck-teapot-thingie…”
“The spout?” she interrupted, smiling.
“Yeah – the spout is sagging and looks awfully pathetic.”
“Interesting.”
“I think you should come over for tea when I get home tomorrow night,” he offered carefully. “We could have a cup, talk, maybe order pizza… and I’ll even let you step on my toes before the charity event.”
“That’s awfully tempting,” she whispered.
“Then give in,” he pressed, feeling the intense need for her to say ‘yes’. “I’ll even let you kiss me.”
“Why would I want to do that?”
“Why wouldn’t you?”
They stared at each other, silent, unspoken messages that seemed to cross between them, and no words were needed… until he shivered. It was cold in the hotel room, and he was standing there in just a towel.
“Chilly?” she asked, smirking at him.
“Very,” he replied. “The room and the conversation. You’re awful at talking dirty to me.”
“I’m really good at hanging up…”
“I bet you are,” he grinned – and winked at her, drawing out a faint laugh. “Tomorrow night – tea, dinner, amazing company, heady kisses, and heck – you could just bring over a few things because we’re getting married and I could show you where your spot in the closet is.”
Boom
There it was.
“You seem pretty confident,” she whispered hoarsely – and he heard the fearful crack in her voice. He felt it.
“I am,” he replied tenderly. “That’s what marriage is supposed to be.”
“What do you mean?”
“Putting up with someone’s crap because they make a little part of you happier than you ever expected – and I don’t know how you put up with me, so I’m guessing that little part might be medium-sized… or extreme psychosis. Who knows?”
They shared a fragile smile as she held up two fingers pinched together. He did the same – except made them a little wider, lifting an eyebrow as if to dare her to say otherwise.
And then she parted her fingers a little more – and he saw it.
“That ring sure looks good on your finger.”
“I never take it off.”