There’s a vulnerability in her words, a crack in the armor she keeps on at all times. I stand there looking at her, and before I know it, I take a seat beside her.
Her breath catches as our eyes lock. An unruly strand of her hair falls out of line, and I tuck it behind her ear without thinking. The simple touch sends a prickling sensation through my fingertips, up my arm, straight to my chest. She’s so damn cute, I think I’m gonna lose it.
Those pretty brown eyes of hers have me under a spell? How have I never noticed them before? We’re sitting close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating from her skin, and I can hear the slight hitch in her breathing.
If I kiss her, everything changes. Would she push me away? Slap me? Laugh? Or worse—would this ruin our fragile friendship?
But what if she kisses me back?
I gulp, my throat suddenly dry as sandpaper. There’s an invisible thread pulling us closer, and I swear she leans in a fraction of an inch.
Do it, coward. Just do it.
No. I can’t mess this up. Not with her.
Screw it. Some risks are worth taking.
“Chrissy,” I whisper, my voice scratchy and unfamiliar to my own ears.
I place my hand on the side of her face, my thumb grazing her cheekbone. Her skin is so soft. She doesn’t pull away. If anything, she tilts her chin up, eyes fluttering halfway closed. Is that permission?
Everything fades away except her lips—parted to release a warm, shaky breath. The space between us shrinks as I inch forward.
Almost there . . .
A sharp knock shatters the moment, and we both jump to our feet like we’ve been electrocuted.
Mrs. Lang’s voice floats through the door, cheerful and oblivious. “What do you two want for dinner?”
“Anything’s good,” I call out, trying to sound casual, like my heart isn’t a racehorse right now.
“I’m craving spaghetti, mom.”
I don’t know why, but the spaghetti scene from Lady and the Tramp comes to my mind, and suddenly I’m thinking what it would be like to share a thin, long strand with Chrissy.
When Mrs. Lang’s footsteps fade, Chrissy’s demeanor changes. “Um . . . I think you should go.”
“Yeah. I’ll see you later.” There’s the awkwardness I feared.
As I leave, I glance back at her, but she doesn’t look at me. She seems to be walled off again, but I’m determined to break through, whatever it takes.
Chapter 12
The thought of almost kissing Theo keeps me awake well past midnight. I toss my pillow, thinking about the way his gaze lingered, unwavering and wanting. It’s late autumn, so why is it so hot in here? I kick off my comforter and step out onto the balcony, gazing at stars again.
I imagine—for a moment—that we could be close, and it fills me with apprehension.
Would his lips have been soft? Firm? Would he have pulled me closer or kept that maddening, teasing distance between us? Ugh. I press my face into the pillow, muffling a groan. This is ridiculous. I shouldn’t be obsessing over something that didn’t even happen.
But it almost did. That’s the worst part.
Theo could have any girl he wants, and I don’t want to be a momentary conquest, someone to pass time with while he lives here. He’s probably not into girls who spend time at night charting moon phases.
The air blowing in from the mountains chills my skin, making the hair on my arms stand on end. I go back inside and plop onto my back, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars I stuck on my ceiling years ago. They’ve faded now, barely visible, just like my common sense apparently has.
I’m terrified that he’ll see my geeky side, my love of astrology and books, and lose interest. What if I’m just a temporary distraction? Something different from the popular girls following him around? If we had kissed and he’d pulled away with that look of regret—I couldn’t bear it.
The next morning, it takes every ounce of restraint not to gawk at his lips at the kitchen table. I still can’t believe we almost kissed. Giving myself a mental shake, I focus on feeding Noah and run out of the house as soon as our plates are empty.
