“You got it.”
We work shoulder-to-shoulder, our arms brushing occasionally, each accidental touch sparking like a match head. She tries to focus—God, she tries—but every few minutes she sneaks a glance at my mouth.
I pretend not to notice.
The second tray goes into the oven. She exhales shakily, like she’s finally getting air again.
I watch her for a moment, the way her shoulders rise and fall, the soft pink still warming her cheeks, the ghost of my kiss still shining on her lips.
When I speak, my tone is low. Quiet. “Emmy.”
She stops moving but doesn’t turn. Doesn’t breathe.
“Tonight,” I say gently. “We talk. If you want to.”
Her grip tightens on the edge of the counter. Then—barely audible—“…okay.”
The scent of maple and chocolate lingers around us, sweet and warm and new and familiar all at once.
A turning point.
Something we can’t undo.
For the first time in years, I let myself feel a little hope.
five
. . .
Emmy
There should be a rule—anactual law, punishable by community service and a handwritten apology—against kissing someone who has known you since you were both practically babies and then being expected to act totally normal after.
Because I am absolutely not normal right now. Not even close.
Darkness has fallen outside and I’ve been staring at the same mixing bowl of ingredients for so long that they have blended into a single regrettable lump. My brain is useless. My hands? Useless. My heart? Beating like I’m running a 5K.
All because Hayes kissed me like I was the last sweet thing on earth.
I press both palms to my cheeks. They are still warm.
Ridiculous.I am ridiculous.
I try to whisk, but my whole body is moving in slow-motion.
Every time I blink, I see it again. The leaning in. The gentle-but-firm pull. The way he kissed me like he’d been practicing in his head for years.
Maybe he had.
Ugh.Nope. No. We are not doing that spiral today.
I look over at him.
Hayes is across the community-center kitchen, rinsing off the large mixing bowl he used for the cookie dough earlier, sleeves rolled up, forearms flexing in that terribly distracting way they do.
And I…I am just standing here watching him like a creep.
He glances over.
