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My gaze sinks to her lip she has tucked inside her teeth. I release her hand so I can tug the sensitive flesh free, but when I move, she takes it either as a sign, or misreads what I mean to do and steps back. She clears her throat and shakes her head as if that will somehow erase the words I’ve said. Erase the meaning.
“So, everyone bailed,” she jokes. “Again.”
A smirk lifts one corner of my mouth. “Looks like it. Still want to finish?”
Adelina glances around at the half-cooked food, likely having a similar thought process as myself. After a moment, she nods, her eyes returning to mine. “Might as well. Want to watch Christmas Vacation?”
It’s an annual tradition I learned Adelina and her mom had when we moved in. Cook Thanksgiving dinner, watch the movie, then decorate for Christmas. Something strange lifts in my chest that she wants to continue the tradition without anyone else here.
“Yeah. Sounds good.”
She beams, spinning on her heels to grab the remote from the living room. When she returns, there’s something different about her. Something I can’t put my finger on. “So since they aren’t coming, we don’t have to make pumpkin pie right?”
I shake my head. “Fuck, no.”
She laughs and sound washes over me like a hot shower after being under the hood of a car all day. “Great.”
I watch in a brief silence as she spins toward the counter and starts collecting supplies to make her apple pie cookies.
I’m not going to fuck it up this time. Tonight, Adelina will learn there hasn’t been a day that’s passed since our freshman year that she wasn’t mine.
Thankfully, Thanksgiving dinner has only ever consisted of just us four—not counting the times Elliot or I had an excuse for not coming—so there isn’t an absurd amount of food to prepare.
Chevy Chase plays on the mounted TV in the living room as background noise while we spend the next hour cooking. Twice I call my mom to ensure her and Todd are fine. They checked into a local hotel, ordered two separate room services, and are arguing over what movie to fill the time with until the storm passes and they can try to get here.
I’m likely supposed to feel guilty when I told her on both calls that they should stick it out and wait till tomorrow, but I don’t.
I don’t feel guilty for enjoying the dozen times I’ve turned around and caught Elliot’s eyes lingering on me. I don’t feel guilty for allowing him to get closer than necessary when he grabs the utensils on my other side. And I most certainly don’t feel guilty for considering what I would do if he tried to kiss me again.
My entire body engulfs in a forbidden heat when I picture those dangerous eyes playing with mine as he pressed his lips on my finger. How his pupils flared, and the corner of his lips twitched.
At that moment, for just two seconds, I didn’t see my stepdad’s son. I didn’t see the detached and bored bad boy who always appeared to be waiting for nothing and everything all at once.
No. At that moment I saw just Elliot. The guy who fought me to take a splinter out of my finger, or once showed me that if I hit my locker twice near the bottom hinge, it would open. The guy who started a program in his automotive class during senior year that offered free minor repairs to anyone who received a ticket in the last thirty days.
I saw the guy I was infatuated with even before I knew much about him.
Or maybe I did. Maybe something inside of me saw the little, minuscule parts of him and began stockpiling it until I knew I’d fall for him if ever given the chance.
“What are you thinking about?” Elliot’s voice acts as a loud clap, yanking me from my musing.
“Huh?” I force my breathing to even before glancing at him. His head is cocked to the side, a brow raised and two glasses lifted as though he’s been waiting.
“What are you thinking about?” He repeats.
“Nothing.” I lie, shrugging nonchalantly even though heat is creeping up my neck from his intense gaze.
“Really?”
“Yes.”
He smirks, and my heart trips. “Then can I ask why you’ve been cutting that same piece of spinach for a good five minutes?”
My brows scrunch together before I realize my hand is, in fact, moving up and down in an animatronic motion. I let my gaze drop and sure enough, a poor, wilted clutter of spinach has been minced past recognition.
“Oh…I” I clear my throat before swiping the spinach into the sink. “I guess I was distracted.”
Elliot huffs before shaking his head. “Come on. I’m tired of waiting.”
