“Because I gave you that big speech about picking yourself up and trying again, and I refuse to do the same thing. With... people.” He puts his hands on his hips. “With you—”
“I never said that,” I say.
“It was implied.”
I press my lips together, but I don’t respond.
“You asked me what I want.”
I stop kneading.
“I did.”
“And I didn’t say anything.”
I nod. “You didn’t.”
“Well, now I’m saying it. Something. I’m saying something. Now.”
I hold my breath.
He looks up, right in my eyes. “It’s you.”
I slowly let out my breath.
“I want you, Claire.”
My heart lurches.
He moves toward me. “Did you hear me? I’m not confused. I know what I—”
But I don’t let him finish. Instead, I grab his face with my floured hands and kiss him so fully my own knees go weak. It’s fevered and frantic, a dam that’s finally split in half as his arms pull me close, pressing my body against his. I inhale his familiar, comforting scent, paying close attention to the way his skin feelsunder my fingers, the way his lips feel against mine—firm but soft—and I melt a little as my mind zeroes in on it all.
But then I pull back, releasing my grip on him with wide eyes. “I just made a mess of your face.” There’s a dusting of white flour on both of his cheeks as I pull my hands away and take a step back.
The corner of his mouth inches up, and he shakes his head. “I really don’t care about my face right now.” He reaches for me, pulling me back to him by the belt of my apron. He takes my face in his hands and studies my eyes.
“Is this crazy?” I whisper, certain I already know the answer.
He shakes his head. “The only crazy thing is pretending I could ever be happy just being your friend.” He brushes a thumb across my cheek and smiles. “You’re gorgeous, you know that?”
I try to look away, but he forces my gaze.
“I’m crazy about you, Claire.”
I hold him a little tighter, but I don’t respond. I’m still wondering if this is a dream.
Then, as if he’s just remembered something, he pulls his hand away and my skin goes cold in the absence of his touch.
“I want to take you out.” He stuffs his hands in his pockets, and I watch a little bit of his confidence slowly fade. “On a not-boring date.” He gives me that trademark smile, a little of the urgency of this confession dissipating. “I’ll plan everything, and all you have to do is show up.”
I take a second to pretend I’m thinking about this, even though he could’ve stopped talking after“It’s you,”because that’s when he had me. Maybe I should be more hesitant. Or cautious. And tomorrow, maybe reality will kick in. But right now—with the way he’s looking at me—I couldn’t walk away from him if I tried.
I chew the inside of my cheek. “Okay.”
“Okay, you’ll go?” He dips down a little, hands stretched out in front of him.
I nod. “Yes. I’ll go.”
