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Me, I’m trying not to fall—hard—into those beautiful eyes, and I’m failing too.
All at once I have a whole list of words I’d love to hear tumbling out of that mouth. Words like love. And not just as a friend. And ‘til death do us part.
I might be getting ahead of myself.
I’d settle for Do you want to try dating? See where this goes? See if you were onto something all those years ago with your ill-timed confession that you were in love with me?
Or even Aw, shoot, now look. . .I’m the one in love with you.
But Owen doesn’t say any of those things.
True to form, he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he pushes a hand through his hair and looks away. I can see the muscles in his cheeks flex, gritting his teeth, frustrated about. . .what, exactly?
And then he walks into the kitchen.
He leaves me standing here, in the living room, trying to catch my breath.
It seemingly left the room with him.
And if he can steal that much oxygen with a wordless stare, I can’t even imagine how I’d recover if he ever kissed me.
But I really, really want to find out.
After a moment, I walk into the kitchen and find him inspecting the empty cabinets. Or pretending to. I can’t tell what he’s doing.
“You okay?”
He faces me. “Yeah, great. All good here.” He clears his throat. “You?”
I nod. “All good here too.”
“Good.” He nods.
“Yep.”
A pause. He hits the counter a few times with his palm, then looks around.
It’s the physical representation of that awkward “Soooo, . . .how ‘bout them Cubs?”
I frown.
“Why are you being weird?” I ask.
“I’m not being weird,” he says weirdly.
“You actually are,” I say. “And being weird is my job.”
He leans back on the counter, and I imagine having permission to walk straight over to him and press my body into his. What would it feel like to finally—finally—have his arms wrapped around me and not in a burning building?
I can imagine that scenario without a bit of difficulty. It’s a nice fantasy. And naturally, it makes my cheeks flush.
I somehow exercise self-control and take a step back, “I should—”
But at the same time, he says, “Can you help me—”
I stop. “What?”
“Uh, I wondered. . .” He looks away. Is he. . .nervous? “So, I got the study materials for the lieutenant test.”
