“There is no other way to eat them. Get the healthy part out of the way,” I explained, even though it’s obvious. How else would they even be eaten?
“Healthy part?”
“Thenotpure sugary goodness. Normally, if they were toasted, I’d eat the edges, then slide the two halves apart and save the frosting side for last.” I’d probably also burn the shit out of my mouth in my impatience, but he didn’t need to know that part. The more I spoke, the more he fought a smile. “Is thatnothow everybody eats them?” I flicked a look to the side.
He took a bite, and half the treat was gone.
“Monster.” I shuddered.
Alluring muscles in his jaw moved and flexed as he chewed. After he finally swallowed, he started speaking. “To answer your question, no resolutions.”
“Tell me you aren’t one of those people too cool for school and think they’re a joke.”
I cringed as he ate the restin one bite. I wouldn’t be sharing these again.
“I don’t think they’re a joke. I just didn’t really think about it,” he said.
“What better time than now!” I clapped three quick bursts. “Think of one.” I glanced at my phone. “Now. You have two whole minutes until midnight. No pressure.” I sucked on the frosted bit in my mouth. As his gaze moved to my lips again, I came up with about five solid suggestions for his resolutions, all of which involved his tongue or mouth region.
“I guess … I’d like to get some more decorations for my friend Ivy’s room. Make it more comfortable.”
The more he shared, the more questions I had. Was Ivy the woman he visited at Golden Sunsets? The fact that that was the first idea that popped into his head made my heart tighten in a curious way. I was too close to developing a crush.
“That’s sweet, but more like a to-do list than a resolution. Any big changes? Any major life upheavals? Any swimwear you’re dying to wear in public?”
He chuckled and shook his head. “I’ll think about it. I think my two minutes are up.”
I tossed my hand out with a sigh of exacerbation. “Now, time is flying.”
I held my phone between us so we could see the screen.
It didn’t take long until we neared the final, final countdown (insert eighties guitar rift here).
“Three …” I said.
“Two …” He joined in, our bodies leaning closer.
A kiss at midnight hadn’t been on my list, but I’d been adapting so well, so far, I might as well?—
“One …” he whispered, head lowering.
My racing heart had to be audible. Every part of me was on edge and sensitive and an exposed nerve.
“Happy New Year,” we said in whispered unison.
In my periphery, my phone screen exploded in colorful fireworks before rolling over to the new year.
Owen bent and brushed his lips against my cheek. Before I even knew what was happening, he straightened away.
My mouth, which had been parted slightly, closed as a disappointment ached through me.
I couldn’t read men at all, it turned out.
We toasted our bottles and grabbed a second brown sugar Pop-Tart. At least I’d always have carbs.
“Living our best life,” I said, hating that my voice sounded breathy and shaky with loss.
“I really am,” he said as if he was just as surprised as I was.
