Page 71 of When In Doubt

I turn to him and he looks almost as lost as I feel, the two of us standing in the center of the store, where the table used to be. I scan his face, the beard he keeps carefully trimmed, framing full lips and barely concealing the cut of his jaw. His nose turns up ever so slightly at the end, hardly enough to notice. I bet they called it a button nose when he was little, but now it looks right at home. When I reach his eyes, I realize that I must have been staring at his lips for too long because now he’s looking at mine, and his face is getting imperceptibly closer with each breath.

He wants to kiss me.

He’s going to kiss me.

Oh God.

There’s a part of me that wants to latch on to the front of his shirt and fuse our lips together until I can’t tell where I end and he begins. But there’s another part, the quiet, terrified part of me that worries that this is too soon, that I’m letting someone too close, too fast and giving them the power to hurt me.

My fingers go numb as my whole body feels like it’s spinning. You’re fine, stop being weird. This is what people do. They go on dates and they kiss afterwards.

What is wrong with you? Just get a hold of yourself.

Oscar’s face flickers in front of me, morphing with someone else. I blink, trying to banish the image of him. I don’t want him here, not ever, but especially not now, when I might be on the verge of something good.

Oscar moves closer, a question in his eyes. I nod fast, hoping the action will hush my anxiety, all my well-honed instincts telling me just to give him what he wants, that I’ll like it once it’s happening and it’s just the build-up that has me in my head.

Aaron’s voice flashes through my mind: You’re thinking too much, this is how it goes.

My own voice interferes, banishing his but doing nothing to assuage the panic: He probably thinks you’re such a freak. You’re being ungrateful.

I lean closer. Why isn’t he kissing me yet?

You waited too long.

My cheeks start to ache with how hard I’m squeezing my eyes shut. Fuck, that probably looks weird. I snap them open again, ready to get this over with, hoping he’ll like it and won’t be mad at me for doing a bad job. But when I see his expression, something cracks inside me.

His eyes are wide, bouncing between mine. He looks so sad, like someone just broke his heart.

“It’s okay, Freya,” he chokes out.

“I know it is.” I try to sound cheerful, but it comes out all wrong.

Why does he look like that?

What did I do?

I look down at my shoes, hoping he can’t see the moisture gathering at the edges of my lashes. Why do I have to ruin everything? I wait for him to get mad, to make fun of me.

His hand finds mine again and gives a soft squeeze, but I can’t bring myself to look at him.

“It’s okay,” he says again, closer this time.

There’s the slight scratch of his beard, and then soft lips against my cheekbone. I can feel his breath tickling the strands of hair that have fallen out of place as he drops the most careful, gentle kiss to my cheek.

“We’ve got all the time in the world,” he murmurs against my skin.

I hold still, not wanting to do anything to make the moment shatter. It’s like the two of us are inside a soap bubble. Everything’s all shiny and iridescent, but it also feels like any wrong move could make it burst.

Oscar pulls away, one last squeeze to my hand.

“I’ll call you.” He sounds hoarse, like he’s fighting to get the words out. “And we’ll go out again, if you want to.”

He’s leaving? I thought he wanted to kiss me?

I said he could, so why is he going?

I straighten my shoulders, trying to seem calm. He doesn’t need to know what a fucking mess I am.