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He smiled, and I couldn't take it.
"You look so handsome," I said.
I reached out to pat the side of his jaw in a familiar sisterly move, but then my fingers felt on fire when I touched him so I pulled back. I shifted my stance to stand instead of leaning on the chair.
"Thank you," he said.
"I'm a little jealous that someone else knows how to dress you so well."
"Even if that someone is me?" he asked, making me smile.
"Kind of," I said, laughing. "Is that sick, or what? Did you pick out that suit?"
"I'll take your jealousy any way I can get it," he said, not hearing my last sentence.
The suit. The stare. The smile. The words he said. It was all too much. My heart was racing like Micah was some movie star I'd had a crush on my whole life.What was happening to me?
"Well, you did amazing on this suit," I said. "I didn't know you could look this good without me."
"Nothing's good without you," he said.
I was speechless. That statement caused a traffic jam of thoughts in my mind and I could not get words to come out of my mouth. I looked down and let out a shy laugh, and then something crossed my mind. "Micah, I, I, you said last night… I thought about the conversation we had last night, and you said that I don’t like broken things, but that doesn’t… you're not… I, myself, am broken. Everyone's broken. Broken things are different than broken people. All people are broken."
He gave me a forgiving, patient grin. "Well, thank you for clearing that up, but I think we all know that I'm more broken than most people. I'm pretty sure those early days of me being so sick are still scorched into your mind."
"No, they're not," I said, shaking my head. "You've seen me sick, Micah."
He grinned. "You know what I mean."
He was being lighthearted about it.
"No, I don't think I do. What do you mean?"
"I mean that homeless drug addict isn't your type, Claire. And even if it was, it's not what you deserve."
"Well, you're not that. And maybe it is my type. Maybe you're wrong." Micah's smile faded a bit and he took a deep breath, stepping toward me and stretching a little. "Claire, I have loved you since day one, so I just want to warn you that any claim that I might be your type is only teasing me."
My face fell. "What? I'm not trying to tease you. I'm not your type either."
"You mentioned that last night."
"Yeah, how every song you write talks about girls with dark hair and long legs and lipstick."
"You wear lipstick."
"Not like those girls."
"Those girls are made up."
"Well, you make up girls who look nothing like me."
"Because if I tell the truth, it would be obvious."
"What would be obvious?"
"That I'm a hopeless fool, Claire. That there's one woman. There's only ever been one woman who I can't get out of my mind, and she is unattainable for me, so I write my songs to be the opposite of her."
"Who is she?" I asked, feeling like my heart might fall out of my chest.
