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“Abi,” Ilan said softly, and Abi realized enough time had passed that it had stopped being an awkward silence and started to be a situation where he was actually worried about her. She shook her head. She hated it when people worried about her. Abi wasn’t the one who needed worrying.
“It’s fine,” she said, shaking herself and lifting her coffee mug to her lips. Enough time had passed that the coffee was no longer piping hot. Not cold, not even lukewarm. Just not how she liked it anymore.
“It’s not fine,” he said, and she realized he’d been touching her, running his hand in smooth, easy circles over her back. She should be annoyed by that. She wasn’t a skittish horse, for fuck’s sake. But she couldn’t bring herself to say anything because it felt so good. Soothing. The jerk.
“It’s fine,” she said again, putting her mostly full cup of coffee on the counter. She pulled the sleeves of her cardigan over her fists and crossed her arms over her breasts. Ilan made a sound that said, of course, he agreed with her one hundred percent, in no way was he humoring her, and crowded her body with his. She found herself leaning into his chest because it was easier than telling him to give her some space. Being held felt surprisingly reassuring, and that was something she hadn’t anticipated.
Why hadn’t anyone told her it could feel so comforting to be touched like this?
They were so close to the same height that she didn’t have to stand on tiptoe to rest her head on his shoulder. She closed her eyes, allowing him to hold her, while still wondering exactly what she was doing in the first place.
The man met her parents at their mosther parents,and he still wanted to come back to her place for coffee, so the least she could do was let him hug her if he wanted to, her brain reasoned. Abi almost snorted.
“You can think I’m ridiculous if you want,” Abi said, her lips touching the soft percale of his button-down shirt.
“Oh, I definitely think that,” he said, and she could feel the rumble in his chest that was his voice, the gentle teasing of his tone made her smile, “but not about this.”
“No?” she said, surprised, because usually when talking about Abi’s planner the words that got used were words like obsessive and fixated.
“No,” he said, his fingers trailing lightly through her hair. He was slowly easing the pins out of her messy bun, being careful not to pull her hair. Every time he found a new pin, he would gently ease it out, place it on the counter and return his fingers to her hair in search of a new one. The feeling was so soothing she worried a little that she was going to fall asleep. Maybe she would if her mind weren’t going a thousand miles an hour.
“Why?” she said, and it was almost a sigh as his fingers scratched lightly at the base of her skull.
“Because there’s clearly more happening right now than just you showing me a page in a book,” he said, his lips brushing her temple. “I don’t understand it yet, but I’m not going to force you into it either.”
“I’ve been working really hard to be ten percent less bitchy with you,” she said, turning her head into his shoulder because she suspected if she didn’t she would start to tear up.
“How’s that been working for you?” he said, not bothering to hide his laughter.
“Mostly it hasn’t,” she said, and this time his bark of laughter made her lips pull into an involuntary grin that she was glad he couldn’t see, “but I have a point.”
“I have zero doubt,” he said, his lips brushing against her hair. “You always have a point.”
“Mypoint,” she said primly, lifting her head to look him in the eye. His eyes were kind, and they did things to her insides that she didn’t like. Not because it was unpleasant, but because it was the opposite and the last thing she wanted was to develop a fixation on something that could go away. Her planner at least was a thing she had total control over. “My point is that I need for you to be ten percent less great. Just ten percent. You can do that, right?”
“You want me to be ten percent less perfect?” The self-satisfaction in his face took the feeling inside her and turned it into something else. A whole other feeling that was more than, and not enough, and also too much.
“I said great, not perfect.”
“I’m inferring,” he said, tucking his chin so that he could look her in the eye since she was still settled on his shoulder.
“Infer what you like, I would consider it a personal favor.”
“Prickly,” he said, his fingers tickling along her side and she jumped, her arms reflexively going around him.
“Jerk.”
“Look at that, I’m excelling already.”
ELEVEN
“Did you know catfish are bottom feeders, and that’s why they’re not kosher?” Leah said, apropos of nothing as she handed Ilan his coffee and bagel on Saturday morning. They were the only ones in the café, she’d only been open for about half an hour. Ilan assumed that most people weren’t awake yet, though since he’d entered Leah had already served a few people through the drive-thru window.
“I was not aware of that, no,” Ilan said, not sure where this conversation was going, but trying to show he was polite enough to engage.
“They’re fascinating creatures when they’re not being attention-seeking little shits,” Leah said. She was wiping down the counter, but her attention was entirely on Ilan. He was struck by how similar she and Abi were in appearance, though they weren’t identical. Where Abi’s hair was wavy at best, Leah’s was full of tight, spiraled curls. Leah also appeared to be happy in a simple tee shirt and yoga pants, whereas the only time he’d ever seen Abi without every wardrobe detail in place was in bed. Even then, she had an air of put-together that he still didn’t quite understand. Though, if he stopped to think about it, he’d be happy to spend a good deal of time working out how she did that.
“I feel like you’re trying to make a point here,” Ilan said, in what he hoped was an amused tone, but he was pretty sure was closer to absolute, gobsmacked, confusion. Leah rolled her eyes and waved a hand.
