She nodded again. “Why risk it?”
Tom’s mouth was so gentle... that almost-smile that hung on his lips. He looked down at the kitchen towel he was holding. (Cherry didn’t have napkins.) “I brought you a present.”
She clicked her tongue in surprise. “You don’t have to give me a present. This is only—Well, we’ve barely met.”
Tom laughed for real. “It’s Christmas Eve. I wasn’tnotgoing to bring a present.” He took something out of his pants pocket—a small package, wrapped in striped paper.
“I didn’t get you anything,” she murmured.
“You made lasagna.” He held out the package. “I’ve never had homemade lasagna.”
She smiled at him and took the present. She was still on her knees while she unwrapped it.
It was a very old ballpoint pen with an articulated, plastic cartoon bird on the end.
Cherry laughed. “This is adorable—where did you find it?”
“I’ve had it for a while.” Tom tapped the bird’s head, and it wobbled. “The beak moves when you use it, like it’s singing.”
She looked up at him. “Wait, are you giving me yourownpen?”
“It’s your pen now. I wanted to give you something that I knew was good.”
They were both leaning over the table, both smiling. If she were to draw them now, she could do it with one line.
Tom was looking at Cherry like she had his full attention. No onehad ever looked at her like that before—like their eyes couldn’t get enough of her.
Cherry tipped forward, making her chin available, if Tom wanted it...
Then making it unavoidable.
She pressed a kiss into his full, pink mouth.
Tom sat back, away from her, and let Cherry fall forward on the table.
A fat girl can’t wait for boys to pluck her like a flower or find her on the beach like a seashell.
Cherry had never been Cinderella. She’d always been the prince—chasing down what she wanted. (She’d been a witch, enchanting apples.) She’d had to reach for things. For love. For attention.
She’d reached for Tom...
She’d reached too far.
She’d fallen into the Ben & Jerry’s container, and there was chocolate ice cream smeared on her chest.
Tom apologized.
And Cherry apologized.
And they got up and started walking toward the door—like it was clear to both of them that the situation had become unbearable. Tom wouldn’t even look at Cherry. (Thank god.)
He left, holding his coat.
And Cherry stood by the door, crying.
She’d brought this on herself. Cherry brought everything on herself—she was a real go-getter. But she was usually a bit more strategic than this. She could usually read the room.
She wondered if there had ever been a moment, since they met, when Tom would have kissed her back...
