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“Serious?” I ask. She might be teasing me.
“I am ready to learn cookie truth.” She has her phone out still, but she’s stopped pretending to take notes. She’s giving me her full attention.
“The best pastry in town, possibly in all of Vermont, is in our very own cafeteria. Val Thurston is the head chef. Her cookies will make you cry happy tears.”
She looks skeptical. “I have never cried over a cookie.”
“That’s because you’ve never had Val’s cookies. Trust me.” When she doesn’t do anything, I point to her phone. She sighs and keys something in.
“You’re from Boston, so you’re probably set with the winter coat thing.”
She rolls her eyes. “Are we going to fight about my supposed accent again?”
I shake my head. I wouldn’t dare.
“Because,” she says, drawing out the vowels to a ludicrous degree, “we Harkers wear our heritage proudly, spreading the charm so thick you have to cut it with a wicked huge knife.”
I laugh and use this perfect excuse to scoot closer. “Do it again.”
She pans, “Don’t tell me my business, linguistics snob.” It could not be more perfect if she had studied with a high-end dialect coach. I reach over and put my fingers on her jaw, feeling the way her face moves as she shapes out her vowels.
“You’re good,” I say, not moving my hand from her face. I move my head closer. “Really good.”
Her laugh comes out mostly breath. Very good sign. “You’re not so bad yourself, mister.”
I slide my hand until my fingers are touching the back of her neck, beneath her hair. She doesn’t back away. In fact, she moves the tiniest bit toward me.
Win.
I keep my eyes open until her face grows fuzzy around the edges, then I close my eyes and concentrate on feeling her breath on my mouth. I’m not suggesting that the moment before the actual kiss is the best part of the kiss, but it is among the top three. Right up there. My eyes move from her lips to her eyes and back again.
She closes the distance. I want to remember that. She is the one who . . .
Wow.
Yes.
Warm and soft and sparky all at once. She puts her hand on my chest and I slide my arm around her back.
I feel her fingers grab the fabric of my shirt as she moves in closer. She makes a small happy sound. I pull back for a second and look at her. She is beautiful. Natural. Happy. Blushing a little. She opens her eyes, and her smile drops. She looks around, like she has forgotten where she is. Her hand pushes against my chest, and she jumps off the couch.
“I have to go.”
I can’t quite control my breathing yet. “Now?” I hope she’s playing.
“Right now.” She grabs her bag from the edge of the couch and launches herself toward the door. She staggers a bit, I’m pleased to notice. Glad she’s lost a little equilibrium. She’s already at the door when I catch up with her. She reaches for the door and smacks into the coat rack. I try to steady both her and it; instead, I manage to send the rack crashing to the ground. I have a hand on her arm.
“Hey, are you okay?” I know it’s a stupid question, but I am not at all sure what just happened.
“I have to go.” She turns a little toward me and puts her hand to my face. “Thanks,” she says, and then runs out the door.
“Um, you’re welcome?” I say to the empty doorway, laughing a little to myself as I right the coat rack. This girl is full of surprises.
