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I suppose it isn’t all that unnatural. We’ve held hands before.As friends… Friends who might love each other, pretend to be married, and have matching tattoos.
“You two,” Carol says, lasering in on Owen and me. “You’rejust madly in love, aren’t you?” Carol stands and points a finger at Owen and then me.
“You know it. Carol’sfeelsare never wrong.” Owen’s eyes fall from Carol to me.
There’s too much in that look, too much in those eyes. There is heat behind Owen’s stare, and I realize that I am playing a dangerous game.
We excuse ourselves and go outside, onto the boat deck. We lean against the twinkle light railing, staring out at the water with the moon shining down. I’d be lying through my teeth if I didn’t say this was romantic. It’s romantic as heck.
I shiver in the cool air—with my coat still hanging on the back of a chair in the dining room.
I’m starting to wonder if Owen is Tom Hanks and I’m Meg Ryan, because just like a film, he slips out of his suit coat and wraps his jacket around my shoulders.
“Thanks,” I say, sliding a glance his way before I gaze back out at the water.
“So,” Owen says, leaning his arms against the railing and turning his head to peer at me. “Did your plan work?”
“My plan?” I gulp. Has Owen become a secret mind reader?
“Yeah, you know. The one where you tell me we’ll play imaginary relationship, and then we see that it would never work?”
I clamp down on my full bottom lip. Scooping back a lock of hair, I break away from his hold and look out at the calm water. “Oh.Thatplan.”
Standing straight, Owen’s fingers feather at the side of my face, down my cheek and jaw to my neck. I swallow and twist a couple inches to peer up at him. “I’m not going anywhere, Annie. I know you. Every inch of you,” he says, and his eyes fall upon my lips.
I clear my throat. “Not every inch.”
His hand cups my neck, and I erupt in goosebumps and electricity. My fingers grapple at his shirt front. As if he were amagnetic force giving me no other choice, I blink up to meet his ocean eyes head-on.
Owen’s face inches closer to mine, closer, closer, closer. Until—I cram my eyes shut and hiss, freezing him in his tracks. “Second date. First kiss is a second date thing.”
“We’ve already had our first kiss.”
I dare to peek out at him with one eye. “Yes, but that was cheating.”
“Cheating?” He snickers. His breath warms my cool cheek, and his lips hover just inches from mine.
“Yes,” I say, my heart pattering so loudly there isn’t even a possibility that Owen doesn’t hear it. “No more cheating, Owen,” I tell him—and I’m banking on him listening. If he goes in for the kill, I’m a dead woman. I won’t have the strength to stop him.
“Fine,” he says. “Second date.” He raises a couple inches and closes the gap, pressing a soft, chaste kiss to my forehead.
There’s a low giggle, and then, “Oh, Stan. Remember those days.”
Carol. Carol is here, watching us. How long has Carol been privy to this private conversation?
“Photo time,” she sings.
I dart my eyes to the left, taking in her full form and frame. She’s holding out her cell—not even mine or Owens.
“Come on, you two. I’m taking a picture of you. Line up!”
Owen straightens up, wraps one arm around me, and I slide mine easily about his waist. The strange thing about dating your best friend is that nothing is new, and yeteverythingis new. We’ve stood side by side a hundred times. Owen’s wrapped his arm around me before. And yet, never like this. This pose means so much more.
Carol snaps a couple pictures, and then she smacks Stan on the arm. “Selfie, Stan. Where’s the stick?”
Kayla is ready for a full report by the time I get home. So, I give it to her. I need to tell someone, and why not her? I need to process what just happened. She’s my other best friend and my sister. Besides, I can’t exactly give Owen the four-one-one on the night.
“Send me the pic!” She squeals.
