Bubbles pop up and disappear for a few seconds—an impending request, I’m sure. I have half a heart to put my phone away and ignore her follow up. But the other half is still hopelessly holding out for anI miss youtext. Or even a simplesaw this and thought of you,with a picture of a chicken in hot-pink Converse. Doubtful, but one can hope.
Seconds before giving up completely, her response comes in, sending an ache deep into my belly.
Mom:Could you do me a favor and check my plants next time you're around?
My order is called from the counter, and I shove my phone in my bag instead of responding. Clearly, she’s forgotten that I already check on her plants.
Every two weeks.
For the last four years.
I grab the drinks a little too aggressively, cracking the side of one, and rush out the door. Sarah snagged a table catty-corner to the shop on a patch of sand. Her nose is in a book, barely noticing me when I set her hot chocolate down, sans crack. Mine, however, leaks iced coffee down my hand and onto the table. I swat my hand against my thigh to dry it off erratically and toss my cup in the trash against the side of the building with a grunt.
“You good?” Sarah asks, her eyes still pinned on her book.
“Fine,” I lie. I’mnotgood. Anytime I hear from my mom, I’m as far from good as anyone could get. I shake off the irritation and focus on the book in Sarah’s hand. “What are you reading?”
I crank my head to the side to try to read the title, but she shuts the book and quickly folds her arms on top of it, pinning me with a glowering stare. Don’t ask about the book with kissing cartoon characters on it. Got it.
“So, I hear you have a date tonight.” The hot chocolate steam rises from her cup, and she winces when she attempts to take a drink. She fans herself and hangs her tongue out of her mouth like a puppy. It’s still halfway out when she says, “With that one buff guy.”
I snort because Eric is the epitome of buff. Borderline too muscle-y if we’re being honest. My mind trips over the images of his muscles—the flex of his arms as he leaned against the chair this morning.
As if the tape in my brain was tampered with, the film skitters, and the image changes to a pair of arms that are slightly softer but just as strong. Arms with chiseled forearms and taut biceps being hugged by a trim light-blue polo. They’re crossed over a chest that is broad and solid, accentuating the divot in the center that directs you up to his neck. I trace the curve of his neck upto a soft beard hugging the edges of a perfect jaw. A jaw I know to house a small cheek dimple on one side and a freckle on the other. A rasp of air leaves me when my imagination lingers on a set of lips, soft and somewhat tempting as they smirk at me, hitching up on one corner. A silent laugh escapes his tantalizing mouth, and a rave happens in my chest as palpitations skitter rapidly followed by a suffocating flash of heat shooting up my neck and settling deep into my cheeks. My lungs protest their duties as the heat threatens to smother me.
Anotherepisode.
“Earth to Stanley.” Sarah waves her hand in my face, snapping me out of my thoughts, sending a swish of hot air against my face. My lungs relent, inhaling the air deeply and settling the nerves that were building up.
Words are hard when I blink back to reality and give a mumble in response.
Sarah laughs and gathers her books. “Well, I hope it goes well!” She stands from the table and heads toward the crosswalk, stack of books—five, to be exact—in one hand, hot chocolate in the other.
“Wait.” I shake my head to banish the smoldering and borderline restricted images of Malcolm I’ve been having lately, refusing to accept they are the root cause of theseepisodes,then follow her. “How did you know about my date?”
She gives me an incredulous look, like it’s a universal fact that no one’s love life is secret around Glendale, which is understandable. After everything with Ellie and Benny, the kids have been having a field day with any and all information they can get their hands on regarding our love lives. You would think they would be more focused on their own, but nope. I’m convinced they view us as old spinsters, and they believe when any of us find love, it’s the work of wizards.
“You think Coach Geer is okay with it?” She gives me a wary side-eye as we make our way back to the hotel.
I groan. “Why is everyone so worried about Malcolm?” I unintentionally yell, startling a few valet workers across the parking lot, as the aggravating unfairness threatens to swallow me. “Everyone is so worried about that ole grump’s opinion, but what about me?” I stop abruptly in the middle of the lot, Sarah slowing to a stop next to me. Panic covers her face as her eyes dart around, watching for moving vehicles. “What about whatI’mokay with? Coach Geer is a grown man. Surely he can manage his friend going on a date with someone! He could go on a date too, and I would be fine.” I bellow the rhetorical question in Sarah’s direction, and she nods rapidly, side-stepping closer to the parked cars. My feelings about Malcolm are lumped into the crazy that is the rest of my life. I feel myself boiling over in confusion and seem to be reacting the only way I know how—loudly and erratically. “Why are we so concerned? If he’s not okay with it, then he needs to come talk to me, right? Right! Malcolm Geer is a grown man. A man that is so annoyingly honest all the freaking time. So, if he has an issue, he can come talk to me about it!”
“Talk to you about what?” Jolting me forward in surprise, Malcolm lets out a soft chuckle behind me. Sarah’s face is a tight line as she glances from me to over my shoulder, where he’s probably standing.
My body tenses from the nape of my neck down to my tailbone, like my spine has been replaced with a metal rod. Awareness surges through me as my erratic behavior replays in my head. Why did I just act like that? I’m irritated, yes. But I’m not irritated with him. Malcolm is innocent in all of this, but dang it, everyone needs to chill.
He is fine.
I am fine.
Everything. Is. Fine.
Taking rigid baby steps, I slowly turn around to face him. It’s awkward and unnatural—and a bit amusing based on the face Malcolm makes as he watches me. His backward hat is an alarmingly pleasant sight, snapping the tension in me like a rubber band. Tingling sensations reverberate deep into my stomach and down my legs, hitting every nook and cranny of my body with the alert ofBACKWARD HAT! BACKWARD HAT!He removes his sunglasses, and I swear it happens in slow motion, blinking at me with eyes that make today’s blue sky look gray and dull.
There’s intentionality in his gaze as he pins me with a stare. “What do you need to talk to me about?” He steps closer, so close that only the smallest of molecules could pass through the space left between his chest and mine. The proximity draws a heavy gulp out of my throat.
Heat swells inside me and courses through my veins like rapid-fire missiles, speeding up my heart, constricting my lungs, and tingling my fingers and toes as his breath touches the side of my face. It feels like a caress, so soft and slow that my eyes shudder in response. I open my mouth to answer his lingering question, but words do not come. Failing. My brain is failing to operate.
“She said if you have a problem about her date, you can talk to her about it.” Sarah is clearly proud of herself as she snickers this information. I glare back at her, but she’s already racing up to the hotel.
