As I unload a few more items from the bag, Scott goes on, “Oh, and some Brussels sprouts and rolls. I know what I'm handling.”
“We do make a good team.”
“Yeah, we do.” I can hear the sincerity in his tone.
We work together on the dinner—laughing, joking, falling back into that rhythm we found when we were staying at Kate's. I let go of the anger I've been holding towards him. And when we finish, I set the table while Scott plates our meal. I head into the kitchen, and Scott carries the plates past me to the table. I grab our wine glasses and a bottle of Chardonnay I opened before we began. When I return, I set the bottle in the middle of the table and our glasses next to our plates, then head back to the kitchen.
“We have everything, I think,” he says.
“Not yet.” I grab a candle I picked up from the store and dig through the drawer for a lighter. “Just a final touch,” I say as I place the candle in the middle of the table and light it. Scott’s expression is so serious. “You can feel free to give me shit about this, for sure.”
He shakes his head. “No. It’s actually nice. Thank you.”
I set the lighter down beside the candle and take my seat. “I think we deserve a toast.”
He grabs his glass and lifts it in the air.
“To a job well done, and to something special that we discovered along the way.”
We clink our glasses together, and I'm kind of wishing Scott would change his mind—that he would say something, anything to let me know that he wants this to go on. I know it's a fantasy, but I can accept that. I'm fine with doing whatever I have to do to spend the night with him and just have this moment.
37
God-fucking-dammit, Mikey. Why do you have to be so charming?
As he sits across from me, the glow of the candle he placed in the middle of the table creates a sparkle in his eyes—as if they weren’t beautiful enough already.
He's always looked like a god, like the universe conspires to make him even more beautiful to me with every passing day. It doesn’t seem fair. I imagine I still look like the same geek to him that I’ve been since we’ve known each other. It’s not just the gorgeous shell that makes him beautiful, though. It’s knowing everything that’s underneath, seeing how much more he is than just another hot guy.
“Are you excited about finally getting home?” I ask him.
“Yeah, it'll be nice. Get back to my own place. Actually sleep in a comfortable bed. Not a hotel bed—”
“Or a blow-up mattress.”
He laughs. “Yeah. Not that we had particularly bad nights on blow-up mattresses.”
“No, not all. No complaints from me. Maybe some stiff muscles because of it, though.”
“Not sure you can blame the mattress for that.”
Tonight's different than it's been since we had that conversation about if we would keep going or not. I see the appreciation in his eyes again for what we’ve done, what we’ve shared. That makes me really fucking happy because I don't want him to leave mad at me or feeling like I was a jerk for saying we shouldn't try.
I look over at the entryway where I stood, arms folded, judging him, being so fucking mad for how he kept me up that first night. “It all comes back to this place, doesn't it?”
“You hated me that night.”
“That's what happens when you wake up hearing some girl screaming at the top of her lungs. I'll be honest, if I knew what she'd been screaming about, I probably wouldn't have judged as much.”
“And if you'd known how easy it was going to be for you to get this guy in bed, you probably would have found a way to be friendlier sooner.”
“I think it all worked out just the way it was supposed to.”
I meant that to be friendly and playful, but I catch sadness in Mikey’s expression.
“We did have a lot of fun,” he admits. “And I'm going to say really honestly, Scott, I never met anybody like you, and I don't know that I'll ever meet anybody like you again. But I do feel fortunate to have you in my life.”
“I feel the same way about you.”
