"Ugh!" I yank my hand back, wiping it on his shirt while we both laugh. "You're disgusting."
"Yeah, but I made you smile." Caleb gestures at my face. "Your mask is starting to look like a topographical map of the Grand Canyon."
"Oh, sugar cookies!" I touch my face, dry clay flaking beneath my hand. "I completely forgot!"
"You look like Shrek's fancy cousin." His dimples flash. "Very distinguished."
"Haha, very funny." I push off the couch. "This mask is an absolute miracle worker for your skin."
"Miracle worker?" He snorts. "That's a lot of faith in some fancy dirt."
"Says the boy who thinks hand soap and water is a skincare routine." I head for the bathroom.
When I come back, face tingling and clean, Caleb's already gotSet It Upcued up. He lifts my legs to drape them over his lap, while his thumb absently traces circles on my ankle. The touch sends a shiver up my skin, leaving goosebumps in its path.
We settle into comfortable silence, and the tension rolls off him in waves, but I don't push. That's not how we work. Caleb always talks when he's ready, and I've learned that, sometimes, the best thing I can do is exist in the same space until he finds the words.
He makes it through the opening credits before finally breaking the silence. "Matt's getting married."
"I'm sorry, what?" My head snaps toward him.
"Yeah. End of May."
I pinch his arm.
"Ow! What was that for?"
"That's for not telling me your brother is getting married!" I twist to face him properly.
"I'm sorry." He fixes his eyes on the screen, but his thumb presses harder into my foot arch, giving away his tension. "Been avoiding thinking about it. Dad's gotten worse since the engagement. Keeps saying if Matt can 'get his life together' then clearly I have no excuse. And Mom . . ." He sighs, dropping his head back against the couch. "She's gone full matchmaker mode, trying to set me up with every 'nice girl' from her book club's extended family tree so I have a date for the wedding."
"I'm a nice girl." I poke his thigh with my toe. "And I love weddings."
He laughs, but something flickers in his eyes. "Come with me."
"What?"
"To the wedding." His fingers stall at my ankle, and suddenly I'm too aware of every inch of him touching me. "I mean it. Be my plus-one."
There's a hitch in my chest I pretend not to feel before he rushes on.
"Not like a date-date," he stammers, words tumbling out fast. "Just as friends. Like always. I mean, we'll have to share a room, but I've crashed at your place a million times, andwe shared that motel for Brodie's birthday, right? It's not weird. Unless I just made it weird. Did I make it weird?"
I laugh, ignoring the tiny prick of . . .something. . . in my chest. "Only you could make sharing a room sound like a criminal conspiracy."
"Shut up." He pinches my leg. "You know what I mean."
"A whole week of Miller family chaos?" I arch an eyebrow.
"Yeah, but think about it. Fancy vineyard. Open bar. All those romantic wedding moments you're obsessed with."
"I don't want to impose."
"Come on, Shortcake. You know Sarah and Matt. I'll even pay for your flight."
"Absolutely not." I kick him lightly. "You need to save for your own place, remember?"
"I have money!"
