“Okay.” I clear my throat, peer down at the beautiful girl before me, and speak. “You have bewitched me, Fran.” My words feel scripted and clipped; they don’t have any of the feeling to them that hers did.
Her head gives a small shaking bobble, and she closes her eyes once more. Again, she prompts me, her voice just above a whisper. “‘You have bewitched me, body and soul.’”
I huff out a breath. “Fine. You have bewitched me. Body and soul.” I can’t put the feeling in it that I know she wants. But I don’t know how—not when it’s so clearly scripted.
Again, her eyes flutter open, her long lashes fanning to the top of her brow as she looks up at me. They tell me they are not impressed with my sloppy performance. “Watch. Listen.” Her fingers move over mine, sending chill bumps over my arms as she entwines our fingers. She clings our fingers close to her chest. “Callum,” she says, whispering my name. “‘You have bewitched me, body and soul.’”
Her chin lifts. Her words are breathy and emotional. I would be lying if I said she didn’t have skills, that she wasn’t drawing me in… just a little. I think it’s the red lips. The woman looks good in red. She’d look cute in a number ten Reno-Tesoro jersey too. Which is why there’s one sitting in the gift bag I just set on the ground.
My gaze drops to her mouth. But soon, one of her eyes opens. She’s peeking at me again.
“It’s your turn,” she says.
My thumbs trace over her fingers still in my hands, and my heart flutters. I feel silly. Thisissilly. I’ve never been an actor. And speaking lines that aren’t my own feels strange.
And yet, she draws me closer.
I bend my face near hers, keep my hands tight in her grasp. In a low voice, one that mimics the way she just whispered to me, I say, “Fran Fairchild, you have bewitched me into doing things I’d never normally do. You’ve taken away my sanity, my reasoning, and possibly my self-control.”
With her eyes still closed and her rosy lips lifting at the corner, she sighs contentedly. “Close enough.”
I swallow, reliving what I’ve said and the truth of mywords. I probably shouldn’t have said all that. It’s far too late now.
Her eyes flutter open, and I take one step back. I’m too close. Fran smells a bit like the diner, and I’ve never wanted a cheeseburger so bad in my life.
“Dinner,” she says, her throat bobbing with her swallow. “I brought dinner.”
“Which movie, Fran?”
“If I weren’t so busy swooning, I would be completely appalled that you don’t know,” she says through another sigh.
I run a hand over the back of my neck and chuckle. “Movie night?”
“Yes, please.”
Oh, Franny.You’re making this friend thing difficult.
She sighs again, her head ever tilted up to me, as if she’s waiting for me to seal the evening with a kiss. It’s tempting.
Instead, I clear my throat and take one more step away from her—for both of our good. “You said we’d be eating dinner?”
“Ah, yep.” Her shoulders drop, and so does her chin. Her hands flap at her sides, and then she bends over, picking up an insulated bag from beneath the table. “Okay, Mr. Egg White Omelet, I brought you a salad, a veggie wrap, or a turkey on wheat.”
“And what did you bring for yourself?” I ask, sitting in one of the chairs, watching as Fran pulls each dish from the cooler. “A greasy cheeseburger?” I say, my mouth watering.
“No.” She sits across from me. “I will eat whatever you don’t.”
“And what if I want it all?” I ask.
“Then I will force you to share half of everything with me.”
I breathe out a laugh and grin, peering at the golden hue that takes over Fran’s hair in this light. “I’ll take the wrap.”
“Perfect. Wanna split the salad?”
“Sounds good,” I say.
I’m not sure why Fran making me dinner and offering me half her salad gets to me. But it does. And sure, we may not be dating like regular people date—still, we are dating.
