“There ya go,” he praises, still wrapped around me.
“Hey, have you ever seen Ghost with Demi Moore?”I turn and look over my shoulder where he’s standing so close.I decide then that I have a thing for guys in backwards hats.He looks good.Like really good.
“Yeah, is this like a bad version of the pottery scene?”
My whole face flushes.Yes, I brought it up, but the comparison does something to me.Does something to this moment.It names it.Calls it out for what it is.Intimate.I do my best to laugh it off.“What next?”He seems taken back by my words, so I clarify.“In the recipe, what next?”
He clears his throat in a quick chin-to-chest dip, releasing me and walking back to his side of the counter.“Now, we add the rest of the wet ingredients and combine.Once you’re done with that, we will add the bread, microwave it, and done!”We work in silence until the very last step.When the microwave timer goes off this time, Levi pulls out the mug and I’m surprised to see a French toast–like texture avalanching over the side of the mug in poofy, pastry-like little clouds.
“Okay,” I say, somewhat stunned by what I’m seeing.“I’m impressed.That looks delicious.”
“Tastes better than it looks.Come on, we’ll take it with us.”
Chapter 21
Levi
It’s showtime...andTate is nowhere to be found.And the last couple text messages have gone unanswered.Where could she be?There are literally only two places I’ve known her to go.Okay, three if you include the practice studio, but why would she be there?I punch out another text to add to my pathetic chain of unanswered messages.
Levi: Hey, just got here.
Levi: Are you on your way?
Levi: Tate?
I’m not sure what changed between yesterday and today.Well, okay, a lot has changed.I did what tattooed Michelle Pfeiffer told me to do.I showed Tate I liked her...right?I rub a hand up my freshly shaven cheek, filtering back through the memories of the afternoon.The cooking.Specifically, the whisking and how it felt to have her between my arms.The rehearsal was good too.We must have sung the song twenty times, not because we needed the practice, but because it was fun.I fight a smile.
“Howdy, cowboy.”Gabriella comes in wearing what could only be described as a dress made from pieces of a disco ball.Tiny reflections of me bump and jostle with every forward movement.I watch as she tips an invisible hat before flashing her signature wink.
“You look good, my man,” Clay says, giving me a quick, approving up-down.
I look down at what I’m wearing.Black long-sleeve button-up shirt, dark denim—and so I don’t look like a shadow—brown boots, and a hat.Admittedly, I don’t know the first thing about fashion or what looks good.My outfit 90 percent of the time is shirt, jeans, boots, and hat, with the colors alternating between white, brown, black, and blue.All that to say, I don’t really care.Tonight though, my goal was to let Tate shine.Knowing her, she will have at least four different colors on.If she even comes.
I look back down at my phone, forgetting Gabriella and Clay even exist until I hear, “He’s got it bad.Levi, you look like a sad little puppy.”
“Totally.I know I’m going to regret saying this, but I think I liked the chip-on-your-shoulder version of you better.You gotta get it together, man.”This time coming from Clay, my “friend.”
