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Two: I didn’t brush my teeth since I tossed back my morning espresso, and I probably have coffee bean breath.
Three: It’s been six months since I’ve kissed anyone, and that was just Smith, my ex-boyfriend—who was only kissing me because our mutual friend Gregory was too busy to come drink with us and keep us from falling into stupid patterns that never work out because Smith is an overgrown child and I am done dating a man who plays Xbox twenty hours a week—and it is possible I’ve forgotten how kissing is done.
Four: I can’t feel my arms. It’s like the eighth-grade Christmas dance all over again. I’m under the mistletoe with Bradley Jones, and he’s moving in, and I’m so overwhelmed that my nervous system is short-circuiting.
Except now I’m twenty-eight and there is no mistletoe, which means the gorgeous man about to press his lips to mine is doing so of his own free will. And, God, but he smells evenbetterthis close.
How on earth is that even possible?
My lips are parting to say something—possibly to ask about his delicious man scent or to blurt out an embarrassing confession about how long it’s been since my last make-out session—when a hard knock on the door fills the silence.
Jack and I jump apart, and my breath rushes out with a shaky laugh.
“Door,” I say, brilliant as ever. “I should get it.”
“Yeah.” He jabs a thumb over his shoulder. “I’ll check the music.”
We scatter in different directions, and I do my best to talk my lungs into functioning. But I’m still dizzy when I open the door to reveal Sonia standing on my welcome mat with a tiny brown bottle in her hand.
“Hey,” she says with a grin. “Dad wanted me to run this down. He gave you the wrong glue. Did I hear Sam Cooke?”
“Yes, thank you.” I laugh as I take the glue. “Sorry.”
She frowns. “Sorry for what? Dad’s the one who gave you the wrong bottle.”
I shake my head, laughing some more because—anxiety. “Right. Sorry.” I wince. “Sorry about the sorry.”
“Oh-kay.” Sonia arches a skeptical brow. “No big deal. Can I come in? Why don’t you have your suit coat on? Do you need help?”
“So many questions you have,” I mutter through clenched teeth.
“Now you’re talking like Yoda.” Sonia puts a hand on my forehead. “Are you sure you’re feeling all right?”
“I’m fine,” I say, praying Jack isn’t overhearing all this. “But I—”
“I just remembered,” Jack says, slipping past me on my left. “I have an appointment in SoHo at noon. Going to have to take a rain check on dude lessons.” He stops beside Sonia, extending a hand. “Hi, I’m Jack. You must be Sonia. I’ve heard a lot about you. Love your work with Ellie’s ringtone.”
“Thank you.” Sonia takes his hand and shakes it with a grin. “I do my best. I have a really embarrassing one queued up for next time.”
“Excellent.” Jack lifts a hand my way as he backs down the hall. “Sorry, Ellie. I’ll text you, okay? See if we can hook up tomorrow? Maybe in the park? Somewhere with more space?”
“Oh. Okay,” I stammer, forcing a stiff smile. “No problem. Just let me know.”
“Will do.” He punches the button by the elevator, relief illuminating his features as the doors slide open and he steps inside.
A second later he’s gone. And I’m left standing in my doorway in semi-drag with a bottle of glue and a head full of unanswered questions.
“Did that really almost happen?” I ask, not realizing I’ve spoken aloud until Sonia says—
“Did he really leave? Yes. More important question, are you really okay? You felt warm, El.”
I bet I did, I think, visions of that near kiss playing on endless repeat on my mental screen.
“I might need to lie down,” I say. “Tell your dad thanks for the glue.”
“Okay. Call us if you need something. Medicine or soup or whatever.”
“Thanks, sweetie,” I say as I close the door. I feel terrible for fibbing, but I can’t very well tell a nine-year-old that I’m feverish with unrequited lust.
