He shrugged off his woolen coat and draped it over the back of his chair. The heat had finally kicked in. “Okay, not boring, but a last resort. There’s more interesting things to do.”
“Like what?”
“You know. Trade our hopes and dreams and plans and secrets.”
I scoffed. “And why would I tell you any of those?”
“Because talking isfun, Shira.”
Was it, though? “Not with strangers.”
“We’re not strangers.”
“Well, we don’t exactly know each other, either. Not really.”
He studied me with the smallest upturned smile, utterly unlike the wide, open smile I was used to seeing on his face. “You used to think you knew me enough to say you loved me.”
I couldn’t believe he’d so casually bring up the most excruciating moment of my life. Even after two and a half years, the reference felt like he’d dumped a saltshaker’s contents onto my innards.
“I was fourteen. I was in love with a different person each week.”
He snorted. “You were in love with me for years.”
He was right, and neither of us had ever acknowledged it to the other before. I could feel my cheeks, hot and heavy, but I refused to flinch. “You wish.”
He leaned forward. “Admit it. You thought I was the sun and moon.”
“For thirty seconds.” The kettle began to whistle, and I busied myself with pouring hot water into our mugs. “Don’t get too full of yourself.” I shed my coat as I dropped back into my seat, suddenly too warm. “And I didn’t like you because Iknewyou. It was because you’re so—” I waved a hand.
He wrapped his hands around his mug, the steam rising to his face. “So what?”
“Sopretty,” I said. “Your genetics do the heavy lifting. It wasn’t because you have a thrilling personality or whatever.”
“Shira Barbanel.” His eyes widened, and he looked unwillingly impressed. “What a burn.”
I shrugged, feeling a little bad but unwilling to back down. “You’re the one who went hard, making fun of a crush from when I was a kid.”
He had the grace to look embarrassed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel bad. I guess I got whiplash, going from years of adoration to years of disdain.”
I rolled my eyes. “Must be hard, no longer being the center of the world.”
“Then you admit Iwasthe center of your world.”
“Because I was a shallow child, no other reason.”
His eyes narrowed fleetingly, but then he flashed me the grin I’d spent years adoring. “If I actually tried, you’d melt at my feet.”
“You wish.” I took a large swallow of tea, which burned down my throat and spread tendrils of warmth through my chest. I couldn’t imagine having so much confidence, and it made me want to take him down a notch.
He stared at me for a long, measured moment. Then his gaze flicked down. “You have tiny hands.”
“What?” I said, thrown off completely.
“Your hands. They’re tiny.”
“They are not,” I said, weirdly defensive of the size of my hands. “I played piano.”
He smiled, softer. “Really? I didn’t know.”
