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My laugh is humorless.
I check Clementine next. Her cheeks are pinker than before, but she gives me a shy smile. Don’t think I freaked her out either with my clumsy words, so…
Okay. Okay.
“Sure you don’t want a riverboat dinner?” I ask Meg, nerves churning in my belly, because a whole evening alone with Clementine means a lot of temptation. And it’s crazy, but I swear Clem wilts a little at my question, sagging in my peripheral vision.
That makes no sense. She’d hardly prefer to be alone with me.
That’s the wishful thinking of an old man.
“Nope,” Meg says, finally flicking her wax thumbprint back into the candle jar. It holds its shape for a split second, then melts away, and the smile my daughter gives me is so sharp, it reminds me of that gator. “You two have fun. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
There are barely any things Meg wouldn’t do, and we all know it. Clem puffs out a strained laugh, but she won’t meet my eye now. Did I hurt her feelings? Did she want to be alone with me?
God. It’s already been a long day, and I can’t parse any of this.
“Anyone want dessert?” The bench creaks as I push to my feet, pulse hammering. “I’m in the mood for toffee.”
Three
Clementine
Dear diary,
Duke made toffee apples last night and we all ate them out in the garden. I made such a mess of myself, smearing toffee over my cheeks and chin, and Meg nearly peed herself laughing at me.
Duke didn’t laugh. But he did smile, reaching over the picnic table to clean my chin with his thumb, and the second he touched me, I went so still, practically panting with longing.
Every part of me zeroed in on his skin against mine. I couldn’t think, couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything except listen to the thud of my heartbeat in my ears as he wiped away the toffee, so gentle and kind.
And lord, his big hand. His thick, strong fingers.
Now, as I replay the moment in my head, I’m adding a few extra details.
Like: what if I caught his wrist between my hands, and sucked the toffee off his thumb? Closed my lips around the knuckle; scraped the pad with my teeth? Flicked out my tongue, brazen as anything, and met Duke’s dark eyes across the table? What would he do?
Obviously, none of that really happened. And anyway—his daughter was right there. My best friend.
Ugh, I’m the worst.
But daydreams don’t count, right? And as long as I keep these thoughts trapped on paper, no one ever needs to know about my off limits crush.
* * *
“One more lap, Clem.”
“Can’t,” I wheeze, flailing to keep up with Meg’s giraffe limbs. “I’m done. Too hot. Too thirsty. Done.”
My best friend grumbles, but she steers us back along the street that leads to her dad’s house. She acts so prickly, but she’s a softie really under that spiked up hair.
Not many people know that. I count myself lucky.
Our sneakers pound against the sidewalk, echoing in the lazy, mid-morning street. Meg’s barely broken a sweat, her long legs bounding easily over the ground, but I’m red-faced and gasping for air. It’s so humid this morning, the air heavy and damp, and I can’t freaking breathe.
Running is a terrible invention.
I only do it because Meg likes the company—and okay, because it’s good for me. Details.
