Caleb:
He’s a grown man. He can order his own extra breadsticks.
Bennett:
And yet he never does. I’m being proactive.
Jenna:
I’ve already liaised with Serena and added extra breadsticks to the order. Also extra tiramisu. You’re all welcome.
Layla:
Jenna, you’re a goddess.
Jenna:
I’m aware.
I check the time. 5:27. “Shit. We need to go,” I say, still looking at my phone as I turn—and nearly run her over.
She’s right there. By the time I realize, we’re already colliding.
Her hand shoots out to steady herself and lands on my chest, open-palmed and flat. Heat blazes through my shirt, straight to my spine. My own hand goes for the edge of the table—reflex, trying not to land face-first—but I catch her elbow instead.
For three seconds we’re fused together in a tangle of limbs and awkwardness. Her heart beats through her palm. Or maybe that’s mine. I can’t tell anymore.
Her eyes are wide. Startled but bright. She’s half-laughing, half-dismayed.
“Sorry,” she blurts, hand still pressed to my sternum. “I wasn’t?—”
“It’s fine.”
But it’s not fine. My heart is hammering so hard she has to feel it. Her hand is steady and warm, and the only thing I want in the entire world is for her to leave it there.
Forever, if possible.
I look at her, and she looks back at me, and for one dizzying second all the ambient noise of the lab drops out and there’s only her eyes, and her mouth, and the spot on my cheek that hasn’t stopped tingling since Monday and the almost-smile breaking on her lips now. Her face is so close that I could count her eyelashes if I had the presence of mind to count anything.
She doesn’t move her hand. I don’t move mine.
“We should get to that meeting,” she says, but her voice is soft and distracted, like she’s forgotten what the words are supposed to mean.
Still, neither of us moves.
“Italian,” I say stupidly. “Serena’s bringing Italian. Breadsticks.”
“Right.” Audrey’s voice comes out strange. Breathy. “That’s... good.”
I should step back and give her space. I should say something normal and diffuse whatever this is.
But I can’t stop looking at her. And she’s looking back at me with those brown eyes, wide and uncertain, and then?—
Her gaze drops to my mouth.
Just for a second. Just a flicker. But I catch it.
Thirty-four years of not doing this. Thirty-four years of being too scared, too awkward, too convinced I’d get it wrong. Thirty-four years of watching from the outside while everyone else figured out what I couldn’t.
