She shifted, crossing one leg over the other, and her thigh brushed against mine.
She picked up a broken piece of snack.
“You’re actually eating it?”
“We can’t let it go to waste. Besides, I didn’t paw it earlier. Not like you,” she teased and munched it loudly on purpose, as if making a point.
“That was very uncustomary for me.”
“Let me guess.” She smirked. “You’re the type who eats only crumpets with tea.” She raised her pinkie and mimicked a British accent on the last three words.
“Not even if the queen herself asked me to.”
Rio laughed. I loved the melodic sound of it, it warmed up my heart and the space between us. “So, what’s your guilty pleasure, then?” she asked.
This.
“No protein anything,” I ended up saying. “But shhh, don’t tell. What’s yours?”
“Chocolate-covered pretzels. But they have to be the right kind.”
“There’s a wrong kind?” I asked.
“Of course.” She gave me a look, like I’d just insulted her entire existence.
We were quiet and I was well aware of the last time we sat closed up alone together and how it had ended. Yet, I couldn’t bring myself to break this moment.
Rio’s mind probably went down the same path, because she leaned back against a cushion, away from me as the crammed place allowed. “Simon and Nicole will be a while. Alright, let’s see ... what’s the last book that made you cry?”
“Are we playing Five Questions now?” I couldn’t help asking.
“No. We can go for I-Spy but I think Emma had us covered.” She was keen on not going there, and I knew I should avoid that too.
I thought for a moment. “Okay, so probably the sports section of The Times.”
Rio chuckled. “Never read that one. Is it any good?”
“Highly recommended. What about you?”
She made a thoughtful noise. “Math for twelfth grade.”
I burst out laughing, full and unrestrained. Simon and Nicole could take their precious time, I didn’t want this evening to end.
The humor ebbed into a quieter moment, and I found myself watching her, tracing the way her warm walnut brown hair cascaded just below her shoulders, the delicate glint ofthe thin gold necklace resting on her collarbone, and how her black top, loose yet somehow clinging in the right places, dipped slightly as she reached for her glass, revealing her clavicle and the soft curve beneath it.
She caught me looking and angled her head to look back at me. “What?”
“Nothing.” I stretched out my legs. “This fort will make me look bad in physiotherapy tomorrow.”
“How’s that going?”
“Hard. Injuries fuck with your mind, too. You start wondering—what if I don’t come back from this?”
“Do you wonder?”
I hesitated. It was something I didn’t fully admit, not even to myself. “Yes.”
“I think you will. Because you’re stubborn.”
