“I know.”
“So what is it? Terrible temper? Stubbornness? Perfectionism?”
“That’s quite a list,” he said. “Collect those from past experiences?”
“Nah,” I said, teasing him. “Those are just a few of my own areas of weakness.”
He had the best laugh in the world. “Try again, cupcake.”
Cupcake.
It was the silliest nickname ever, but I instantly loved it. “Cupcake?” I said with a smile, telling him as much.
“Yeah, cupcake. Which is my weakness, by the way.”
“Cupcakes are your weakness?”
“Yep. Can’t stay away from them.”
“Stop. You’re totally teasing.”
“Not teasing,” he said.
I gave him a look.
“Fine. One flaw. I have a real fear of commitment. Daddy issues, as they say.”
“Is that a flaw, though?”
“Some would say it is.”
“Then I guess I have the same flaw.”
“So we’re just two not-terrible-looking people, afraid of commitment, who like cupcakes.”
“How do you know I like cupcakes?”
“Because you smiled when I said it. And also because anyone who doesn’t is a real monster, and I typically don’t languish in a hot tub with monsters.”
Of all Parker’s qualities, his silliness was my favorite. “I do like cupcakes,” I admitted.
“Of course you do.”
For the first time all day, we both went quiet. It wasn’t because I didn’t have anything to say. There were a million other questions I wanted to ask him. But as I watched Parker look at me the way he did, all of them seemed unimportant.
Except one.
Do you want to kiss me?
It looked like he did. But Parker didn’t move. Was it because I’d made it clear we were just friends?
“You know how, at lunch, I made it clear we weren’t on a date? And that we were just friends?”
“I do. Very well,” he said dryly.
“That was the fear talking.”
“What are you afraid of, Delaney?”
