“Oh, you know I’m just playing with him,” she whispers.
Sullivan turns on her, his scowl so deep it looks physically painful. “So, you’ve taken to objectifying men, now? That’s real feminist of you.”
Kiara smiles her sweetest smile. “Just a pendulum reaction to thousands of years of women being dehumanized and turned into objects for men’s pleasure. About time we got in on the action.”
“You give feminists a bad name.” Sullivan stalks off to get napkins for his spilled coffee.
“And you give moody writers a bad rep,” Kiara calls after him.
“You’re shameless.” I shake my head and wake up my computer.
“You love it.” She bats her eyelashes at me like an innocent flirt.
“You really shouldn’t be so cruel. I think he actually likes you,” I say, dropping my voice.
She brushes me off, but when we go back to writing, she glances over at Sullivan, her expression thoughtful.
I’m slightly more focused after Cosmos didn’tmake a big deal about my overthinking. Over the course of the next hour, I finish a whole chapter. A solid output considering my chapters tend to be long. Then I get stuck, so I turn to my phone.
Now that I think about it, Cosmos’ last messages were brief, a little terse even. Maybe I read them wrong the first time. He could have meant our relationship is different because we can stop time—a factual statement, not an emotional one. Maybe he was just trying to calm me down before he calls the whole thing off.
No, he likes me. He couldn’t have kissed me the way he did if he didn’t like me. I’m being paranoid again. His messages were only short because he had to be in surgery. It’s fine.
Kiara and I write for another thirty-minute sprint, but the closer it gets to three, the less focus I have. My stomach is tight, and my heart rate is up. At a quarter to three, I call it a day and start packing my computer. My phone vibrates. A call from Cosmos.
“H-hello.” My voice shakes, and I clear my throat before repeating myself.
“Hey, it’s Cosmos.” It’s kind of cute that he tells me, even though he must know I saw his name when I picked up.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t talk before.” He sounds tired. “The reason I didn’t respond right away to your comment about Wednesday was that I was trying to find someone to cover the rest of my shift. I don’t want to wait until Wednesday. I know this is last minute, but can I see you tonight?”
I want to happy-scream,‘Yes!’But I settle for a silent jiggle dance and a subdued, “Sure. I’d like that.”
“There’s just one problem,” Cosmos says. “Well, it doesn’t have to be a problem. But my family always has dinner together on Monday nights, unless someone’s working. I’ve missed the last few, and apparently my niece cried last week because I wasn’t there. I know it’s weird and too soon. Believe me, I would rather go to the beach,” there’s a teasing smile in Cosmos’ voice that sets me at ease, even as it makes my whole body spark with electricity, “but would you come to family dinner with me instead? We just need to make an appearance, maybe play a few rounds of Uno with my niece. Then, I’ll make it up to you.”
I’ve never heard Cosmos come so close to rambling. It’s adorable. I want to wrap my arms around him and hug him. While I was panicking about moving too fast, he was doing the same thing, just in a different way.
Meeting his family makes my palms sweat, but I like the thought of getting to see where he’s from. I want to know everything about him, including what he’s like with the people who’ve known him the longest. And hearing him talk about his concern for his niece makes my ovaries do strange little flips—which is a thing, apparently. Who knew?
“I’d love to come. Is there anything I can bring?”
“Just yourself.”
We’re quiet for a minute, like neither of us wants to hang up.
“Although,” Cosmos says. “If you bring somethingdinosaur related—it could be anything really—my niece will love you forever.”
“I’d like that.” My throat feels a little tight, and I’m not sure why. I guess I just really want his family to like me. “I’ll send you a text with my address.”
“I’ll be there in two hours,” he says. “Sooner if possible.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
The Romero house looks like it was built at least a hundred years ago, if I had to guess from the Victorian style.
The crowded entryway opens directly onto a staircase. There’s a sweater hanging over the banister, a pile of books on the third step. To the right, there’s a cozy dining room, and to the left, a sitting room with a floral couch and miss-matched armchairs. There’s no hallway, no veins connecting the rooms, just one room built upon the next. Wood floors and an eclectic old-world aesthetic round out the feel of the place. The maze of rooms give it a well-worn, lived-in feel. The kind of house haunted by happy memories. I love it instantly.
“Cosmos? That you?” A woman’s voice calls as soon as the door closes behind us. “I’m in the kitchen.”
