He cracks open my fortune cookie, pulling out the little slip of paper.
“Okay, what does it say?” I ask Logan.
He scans the small piece of paper, his expression turning serious. “The hot woman sitting beside you is way out of your league.”
I laugh. “It does not.”
“It absolutely does,” he insists, holding the fortune close to his chest so I can’t see it. “Fortune cookies don’t lie, Tessa. This is ancient wisdom.”
“Let me see it.” I reach for the paper, but he holds it higher.
“Fine, fine.” He grins and looks at it again, his voice shifting to something softer. “Okay, it actually says the best things in life are worth waiting for.” This time, I know he’s telling the truth.
My laughter fades as the words settle between us.
He looks at me, his smile gentle now. “I think it’s right.”
“Yeah?” My throat tightens with emotion.
He nods, handing the fortune to me.
“I like this one. Can I keep it?” I ask.
“Of course. What does yours say?”
I look down at my fortune and read, “Adventure awaits. Wear comfortable pants.”
“Really?”
I frown unamused. “Really.”
“Well.” Logan slaps his thighs as he gets up and starts clearing away our take-out containers. “They can’t all be winners.”
“Isn’t that the truth?” I crumple up my fortune and toss it into the bag of trash.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-FOUR
TESSA
We’re sprawled on opposite ends of the couch, a half-empty bowl of popcorn between us, some action movie playing that neither of us is really watching. Beatrice is curled up on the armrest beside Logan, purring softly.
It’s a normal night. Perfectly ordinary.
Except for the way Logan keeps glancing at me when he thinks I’m not looking. Or the way my heart speeds up every time our eyes meet. There’s also the way the air between us feels charged, heavy with everything we’re not saying.
I pull my knees up to my chest, wrapping my arms around them, and steal another glance at him. He’s wearing gray sweatpants and a faded Cranes T-shirt, his hair still damp from his evening shower. The glow from the TV casts shadows across his face, highlighting the strong line of his jaw and the curve of his lips.
God, I want to kiss him.
I’ve wanted to kiss him for weeks now. Maybe longer. If I’m being honest, I’ve wanted to kiss him since the very first day hewalked into the coffee shop with that easy grin and asked me what my favorite animal was.
But he won’t make a move.
He’s careful with me. He keeps his distance even when I wish he wouldn’t. He looks at me like I’m something precious, something fragile.
I’m tired of it, of pretending I don’t feel this pull between us. I’m tired of waiting for him to make the first move when I know—Iknow—he wants this too.
