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I jerk upright, my eyes still heavy with sleep as I blink around the dim room. I try to shake off the dream—or rather the memory—that I haven’t thought of in years, but then a pair of gray blue eyes flash through my mind, and my stomach completely bottoms out.
Ant…
And just that one thought has my heart thudding violently against my ribs.
I fling my legs over the side of my bed and quickly cross my bedroom into the attached master bath, despite wanting to head straight out into the living room to see if Anthony is still here. Splashing water on my face, I try my best to push past the uneasy feeling that has formed in the pit of my stomach.
Funny, I feel all sorts of ways—both good and bad—and yet I can’t remember a time before now that I’ve looked at my reflection in the mirror and seen even a semblance of the hope that currently shines from behind my golden eyes.
A stupid smile is etched on my lips as I quickly brush my teeth. The longer I wait to go out there, the more anxious I become and yet I still move no faster. I think a part of me is afraid I’m going to walk out there and either he will be gone, or that I’m going to discover that what I felt last night was just a combination of nostalgia and alcohol and nothing more. Or maybe I’m more afraid that it was real. Because wouldn’t that be worse than any other scenario? I mean, it’s not like Ant and I could ever be a thing. And do I even want us to be?
God, I’m getting so ahead of myself I feel like I’m what-ifing something that isn’t even a possibility.
Letting out a long sigh, I flip off my bathroom light, throw on a bra before tugging my tank top back down, and quickly step out into the short hallway that opens up into the living room/dining room combo.
My eyes go to the gray suede couch first, the throw blanket I gave Ant last night folded up neatly and left where his head was laying just hours prior. I let the disappointment seep through me for only a moment before straightening my shoulders and making my way into the galley-style kitchen that sits on the opposite side of the room.
I haven’t even fully rounded the corner when I hear it. The deep hum from the other side of the wall followed by the opening of the refrigerator. My heart picks up double time when I finally reach the doorway to the kitchen where Ant is currently standing, whisking eggs in a large white mixing bowl.
“There she is.” An instant smile pulls at his mouth when he catches sight of me, and damn it if the way he looks at me doesn’t make me feel something I sure as hell know I’m not allowed to feel.
“Hey,” I push out casually, turning toward the coffee machine which already has a full pot brewed. “What are you making?” I ask, pulling down a coffee mug from the cabinet in front of me, noticing Ant already has one of his own sitting next to the stove.
“Scrambled eggs.” He holds out the bowl to show me its contents. “You hungry?”
“I am actually.” I smile, loving that even after five years we can fall back into the easy friendship we’ve always had. Well, with the exception of this funny thing my stomach keeps doing every time I look at him.
“Good.” He grins, setting the bowl next to the stove where a pan is already warming on the burner. “So what’s the plan for the day?”
“Well, I need to go pick Jackson up from my grandparents at some point. I promised him Tess and I would take him to the park today, but that’s when I thought she was going to chicken out and would still be here.”
“Well then, looks like it’s you and me. I may not be as pretty as Tess, but I can guarantee I’m a million times more fun.” He winks.
“Oh I don’t know about that. Aunt Tess is Jackson’s favorite,” I warn.
Normally I wouldn’t even consider bringing a guy around Jackson, but with Anthony it feels just as natural as having Tess or Courtney around. I have to remind myself he’s just an old friend and Jackson has been around plenty of my friends. Why should this be any different?
The thought settles me, and we spend the remainder of the morning eating eggs and drinking coffee on the balcony over easy conversation.
We laugh, retelling stories of our past, and only when Courtney comes into the conversation do I feel the shift again; the same shift I felt last night when the topic of their relationship came up. I ignore the pang in my gut that tells me there’s so much more there that he’s not telling me about, and I remind myself that there’s a lot of things I don’t know about him; even more than he probably doesn’t know about me. And honestly, I kind of like that about our friendship. He doesn’t know how deep the scars of my past run, and therefore he doesn’t judge me by them.
After cleaning up breakfast, Ant takes a quick shower in the guest bathroom and puts the same clothes back on that he was wearing last night; though, they look just as good on him the second time around.
I still can’t wrap my head around just how good looking he is now, which is really saying something. Teenager Ant was something to look at, but grown up Ant is something else entirely. Even though he’s still young, there’s something so mature about him—both physically and emotionally—something that makes him seem so much older than just twenty-three.
It’s just after eleven when we climb into my car and make the ten-minute drive to my grandparents’ house. The ride over is pretty quiet and while he doesn’t say so, I get the feeling he’s nervous about meeting my son; though, I’m not entirely sure why he would be.
We’re friends, aren’t we? And if so, then why would it feel anything other than natural to meet Jackson? Friends meet their friends’ children all the time. But even as I’m telling myself this, I can’t deny that I also feel nervous.
Because even though nothing has happened, I also can’t ignore the invisible electric current that seems to have been coursing between the two of us since the moment he smiled at me through the windshield of my car outside of Sebastian’s apartment.
“Does he ever ask about his dad?” Ant’s question comes out of nowhere just as we’re pulling into the driveway of my grandparents’ small one-story home.
I think on that for a long moment, not really sure how to answer that question.
“Sometimes,” I admit, letting out a slow sigh as I kill the engine but make no attempt to exit the car.
“And what do you say?” He shifts in his seat to face me.
