I vow to keep my space from him tonight, especially after that absolute dumpster fire of a double date that ended with some very confusing feelings on both of our parts.
He isn’t used to seeing me with a partner, especially one as openly affectionate as Spencer, and that jealousy of his that reared its head for the first timeeverreally got under my skin.
I’ve tried to shake it off, but it’s proving difficult to forget. I’d finally given up hope that I’d see him look at me like that, with hungry eyes full of more than desire, but intention, too.
To say I’ve been having trouble getting the vision of him cornering me in that hallway out of my mind’s eye would be an understatement. I think a little space between us lately has beengood for us both, and I need to make a point to maintain that physical distance tonight as well.
We scarf the meal in near silence, not entirely comfortable, but not as stilted as I feared, either. My eyes don’t wander too close to his side of the couch, finding the array of snacks even more interesting than I normally would, my gaze staying in the very safe vicinity of the coffee table and blank TV screen.
When both of our plates are mostly empty, he looks my way long enough for me to realize he wants me to meet his gaze, and reluctantly, I do. If my breath catches and my stomach jumps upon the connection, I certainly don’t notice it.
“It’s your day off, right? What were you doing before I came over?” he asks, like he’s actually curious about my life these days.
I tuck my chin into my chest and sheets of my hair fall forward to cover my face. I don’t know why I’m nervous to tell him about this endeavor of mine, but it feels personal, like it’s putting myself out there for judgment, rejection, and that’s something I never want to feel from him again.
What I’m definitelynotexpecting is for fingers to reach out and tilt my chin up, brushing my hair away from my eyes so that he can see into them, but that is exactly what happens.
“Hey,” he says softly, fingers still softly pinching my chin. “I’m still me. It’s still us. You can still talk to me, Gem. I wanna know what’s going on in your life, even if I’m not a part of it.”
His hands have touched me thousands upon thousands of times before, but this intimacy is a first. My head twists to the left until his hand is knocked off my face, but the burn of his touch remains.
He drops his hand back down, though that intent stare never leaves mine. I fight the shiver trying to break out across my back, my spine, down my limbs, and decide to open up to him about this. It’s not that I’m worried he’ll make fun of me. He won’t. There’s always going to be teasing between us, but beneath allof it is a bedrock of unending support. But once I say the words, they’re out there. It makes this whole thingrealrather than just something I’m considering and having fun dreaming up.
“I’ve been sketching some designs,” I start.
“That’s great, Gem,” he tells me earnestly.
“I keep seeing these visions of cute shirts and clothes for girls who read. I dunno if I’m gonna do anything with it or not, but I wanted to get some of these designs out of my head.”
Somehow it doesn’t seem as scary, now that he knows about it, too.
“A clothing line?” he asks, eyes wide, more incredulous, dare I say impressed, than disbelieving or surprised. “That’s so fucking cool, Gem!” Those words warm my insides, and I didn’t realize how good it would feel to have a little bit of belief, of support from this man, but it’s undeniable. My idea already seems less stupid and unachievable from his belief in me alone.
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves here,” I mumble, waving his enthusiasm off with a hand. “Right now, I’m just playing around with some sketches, some designs that could go on the clothes. I might make some for myself and see if it turns out how I want it to.”
“That’s so awesome, though. You’ve always been such a talented artist, how cool would it be to turn that into your own business? So you were working on designs just now?”
I nod, biting my lower lip in apprehension, because I know what’s coming next.
“I’d love to see them,” he says interestedly, and at my expression, he takes it down a notch. “You know, if you want to share. Whenever.”
He clears his throat and points at the TV. “So, uh, I never saw the last few episodes of the season. Figured, you know, maybe we’d watch ’em together, or whatever.”
“Same,” I whisper, unable to take my eyes off of his face, how nervous he looks. He’s being sosweet. It’s like the old us, but something is different. Whether that something is good or bad, I can’t tell yet.
He leans forward to grab the remote from underneath the monstrous pile of snacks, and gets the TV on and our show queued up. I uncross my legs, readjusting to face forward, sitting normally, feet on the floor like a boring adult (because I’ve learned I can watch TVwithoutgetting a headache from the crick in my neck the next day if I don’t have to do body contortion to see the screen), rearrange the cozy blanket around my lower half to keep me warm and settle in for just another Sunday night ritual.
Right before he hits play, he looks back at me once more and says, “This is nice.”
The genuine, soft smile that lights up his face fills me with more warmth than all of the hot food we just ate, the blanket in my lap, or the two wine coolers I’ve downed so far. I shoot him a small smile in return, and try to focus on the extremely compelling show in front of me,notthe extremely attractive man I spent years thinking was made for me sitting less than a foot to my right.
TWENTY-THREE
GEMMA
Two hours later, and I have failed miserably.
To his credit, there has been exactlyzerofunny business.
