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Satisfied, I jump in the shower and then dress in a pair of summer-weight trousers and a shirt nice enough for a brunch meeting with my agent.
Lara’s leaving her room the same time I leave mine.
“Can’t believe I slept so late.” She yawns with a smile.
She’s got that messy bun thing going on and a wrinkle from her pillowcase across her makeup-free face. Cute.
“I can. We must have traversed the city six times yesterday.”
She tips her head in agreement. “Lots to see. Lots to do.”
When we get to the kitchen, I hang back at the doorway.
She ventures in with another yawn, stretching one fisted hand wide before?—
She coughs out a laugh, looking back at me with an open-mouthed smile. “Boomer!”
“Made you breakfast.”
She rounds the counter to where I set out the platter with a bag of pretzel rods and a jar of queso. There’s also a twig I found on the sidewalk and topped with a Spanish olive, which she picks up with one hand before doubling over, holding her stomach with the other.
Damn, she’s got the best laugh.
I take a picture with my phone and then pocket it as I walk in, leaning against the counter beside her. “Not quite as special as the peace offering pretzel breakfast you made for me.”
“Oh my God, and you brought me an Eye-C-T too?” She holds up the can and, cheeks pink and bright, cracks it open. “This stuff is poison.”
I told her that ten years ago. “You don’t have to drink it. Really.”
She gives me a cross between a straight-arm and clothesline, tipping the can and gulping it back like a frat boy.
Whoa, that moan.
I swallow hard and look away to give Big Ben a second to get a grip. God, he’s insufferable.
When I turn back, Lara’s incoming. She flings her arms around me, and mine close around her. I pull her off her feet and pop her onto the counter before there’s time to get distracted by how nice she feels.
And there she sits, eating pretzels, drinking her iced tea-flavored beverage, and chatting with me about our plans for the week, for camp, and for everything else we manage to fit into the conversation before I have to go meet my agent.
* * *
Lara
Ben flew out this afternoon, and while he told me he was gone more than not when I arrived, this is the first time he’s left town since I moved in. It’s not like I haven’t had my share of being alone in this space, but it’s strange knowing he won’t be strolling around the corner at any moment, belting out some Cher song that predates his birth by a dozen years.
The guy is such a goof. So much fun. And after finding ourselves interacting in a way that feels remarkably similar to our pre-prom past together, I’m a little bummed knowing I won’t be seeing him for a few days. A little bummed, and possibly a tiny bit anxious that time and space will break the spell and when he comes home it won’t be the same easy joking, talking-more-every-time-our-paths-cross fun we’ve fallen into over the last few days.
Okay, or maybe I’m overestimating the re-bonding between us.
Maybe Ben’s got a million friends he clicks with this way, and I’m turning into some possessive creeper buddy.
Ugh… Maybe I shouldn’t have done that thing before he left.
Closing my laptop, I walk into the kitchen and open the cabinet where we keep the dry snacks. Stare a minute and wish for a time machine to go back and stop myself from sneaking into his room while he was packing and?—
My phone vibrates, and when I check the screen, it’s Ben requesting a video call.
Heart in my throat, I accept… and there he is, laughing as he holds up the bag of pretzel rods I snuck under his stack of sweat-wicking sport shirts.
