He helps me switch out the cooking sheets. He bumps my arm, so I bump his back.
“I like that you think I’m funny,” he says, and I laugh sarcastically.
“I like that you think I think you’re funny.”
The gaze that he gave me last night before we started dancing last night is back.
If only I knew how this could end for us, things would be so different right now.
“You’re doing it,” he says, leaning closer to whisper in my ear.
“Doing what?”
“Biting your lip.”
I press my lips together and get back to the cookies.
“Sorry.”
“Sure.”
He rubs my back just as Hudson returns to engage him in conversation. Which is good because I think I just figured something out.
I want Tobias in a way I’ve never wanted anyone, and I’m only half terrified. The other half … she’s not sure we should rule it out yet.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
TOBIAS
We spend most of the day outside. The weather is perfect, and the sun is still shining when we decided to call it a day and head back to the house.
I push the door open, holding it for Natalie.
“Today was fun,” she says, putting the cookies in the kitchen. “I can’t remember just going with the flow in a long time.”
After baking, we’d gone for a beer at Hudson’s bar, then we watched the afternoon parade, which was just four floats long, and walked home.
There are more events tonight, but I’m not upset that we aren’t attending.
As long as I’m with Natalie, I don't really care what I do.
It might not be the healthiest way to think, but today taught me that I’d be the happiest man on earth if we had more days like this. And I'd be even happier if we had more days like today but were more than friends.
The thing is, she said she wants to be friends. How do I convince her to see what I see without crossing a line?
“We should order pizza and get our computers out. I think we need to add something like this festival to the mix. I loved today so much.”
She turns to go up the stairs, and like it has all day long, my gaze follows her, soaking in her every move, from the sway of her hips to the way her hair bounces in her messy bun.
I rub a hand over my face.
How did I miss this? How did I not see this sooner? We’ve been friends for ten years. Ten.
I’m standing in the same spot when she comes back down. She hands me my computer bag and then sets up her computer at one end of the couch. I do the same.
Writing in the middle of the day has never been my thing. It’s either a get-it-done first thing in the morning or a late-night thing for me. Any other time, even with the guys, it feels forced. But not right now. Sitting down to do this with Natalie feels good.
I’ve missed the feeling of joy when it comes to writing.
