“What’s this?” She pulls out something wrapped in green crepe paper, then tries to hand it to me. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have snooped.”
“It’s fine.” I wave her on. “It’s for you.”
Paper crinkles as she unwraps the handmade blue mug carved with bold, colorful flowers.
“You mentioned regretting not buying it.” I run a hand over the back of my neck, awkward as hell. I just told her I want to be with her—why am I being so weird about giving her something she likes? I want to give herallthe things she likes, but pottery’s where I get strange, apparently. “When I saw it in the window at The Painted Daisy, I couldn’t resist.”
She clutches it to her chest, gazing at me as if I made it for her myself. “I love it. Thank you.”
I slice up the pie, and we each take a piece to the living roomwhere we collapse on the couch. It’s newly free of the uncomfortable throw blanket, and we sit next to each other in the middle, holding our plates in our laps.
She moans over a forkful of pie, her eyes closed, her pink tongue darting out to find the last traces of filling. When she opens her eyes again, she darts a glance my way. I aim my best scowl at her.
“You’re doing that on purpose.”
“Maybe.” She leans against me, tilting her face up for a kiss.
“You’re naughty,” I say low, hovering my mouth over hers.
She clears the last of the distance, pressing a quick peck on my lips. “Maybe.”
Don’t ever change, firefly.
She sinks back against the cushion, such as it is. “It looks so good in here now. Like it’s becoming a real home. I wish I’d done this sooner.”
“I heard this Hindi proverb once. That whenever you wake up, it’s always morning.” I gaze down at her. “Whenever you’re ready to make a change, that’s the right time.”
She beams. “I love that.”
The cat jumps onto the couch, and Rose freezes, plate and fork paused in the air. “Hi, Stormy,” she says gently.
He blinks at each of us, then steps closer to smell the pie on Rose’s plate. His nose comes away with a tiny red spot of strawberry-rhubarb filling on it. He swipes it with his tongue but doesn’t seem interested in going back for more.
We watch the cat like two kidnapping victims forced to endure an interpretive dance put on by their captor. He rests a tentative paw on her bare leg, testing the waters. When she doesn’t do anything, he adds another, finally standing awkwardly on her legs. Rose wears a look of pure concentration, like someone going through a laser beam tripwire maze in a spy movie. The wrong move could spell disaster.
The cat lies down, resting his head on his paws. He staresstraight ahead for a minute as if he’s trying to decide if he actually enjoys this. Finally, he closes his eyes.
Rose looks over at me, grinning as if her heart’s gone supernova and she can’t contain it. “Best day ever.”
I have to agree.
29
rose
Haveyou ever been so happy it’s like you’re living inside an iridescent soap bubble? It’s beautiful and colorful, but so delicate it could burst any minute, leaving you in a free-fall? That’s me on my way to Reed’s family cabin. He’s got one hand on my leg while he drives, looking over every so often and smiling as if just seeing me at his side makes him happy.
It’s too good to be true.
I’ve never been this far in a relationship. Time-wise, sure, I’ve gone far beyond this. We only just admitted we don’t want to pretend to date last night. But I’ve never had this much affection for someone, rewriting my cells so every one radiates with love for Reed. Sorry, mitochondria, you have a new job now. And I’ve never had someone care for me back this much, either.
I’m terrified I’m going to lose it.
I lace my fingers with Reed’s, trying to shove those worries aside. It’s obvious he’s excited about this trip, and I don’t want my baked-in insecurities to spoil that. The change in him is impossible to miss and fascinating to watch.
He was his usual self at work today. Maybe he went out of his way to touch me when we passed each other and snuck a few kisses in the back room, but he stayed in gargoyle mode most ofthe day. But the deeper we drive into the woods, the more he loosens up, the rigidity he displayed at work relaxing into flesh. He points out turnoffs to campgrounds or lakes he likes to visit and tells me stories about his trips to each one. He’s got one elbow on the doorframe, chatting away as if this isn’t a totally novel side of him. Hehums.
I’m tempted to pull out my camera and record him like I’m capturing footage of a cryptid.The elusive Bigfoot caught humming what sounds suspiciously like that upbeat song fromZootopia.