She answers so fast she must've been standing right there.
"Hi," she says breathlessly.
"Hi."
We stare at each other.
She looks—
God, she looks beautiful.
She's wearing a blue sundress that hugs her curves in all the right ways, and her hair is down, falling past her shoulders in dark waves. She's got makeup on; not a lot, just enough to make her eyes look even bigger behind her glasses.
She's stunning.
And I'm standing on her porch in a T-shirt and boots, looking like I just walked off a construction site.
"You came," she says.
"You asked."
Something flickers across her face.
"Right," she says. "Okay. So. My parents are inside. They're… Well, you'll see. Just… I don't know, stand close to me? And maybe act like you... like me?"
"I do like you."
It comes out before I can stop it.
Her eyes go wide. "I mean, like like me. Like we're dating."
"I know what you meant."
She bites her lip and I have to look away before I do something stupid.
"Okay," she says. "Okay. Let's do this."
She reaches for my hand.
I freeze. Her hand is small and soft and warm, and the second her fingers wrap around mine, every coherent thought I've ever had disappears into thin air.
"Is this okay?" she asks, looking up at me.
No. Yes. I don't know.
"Yeah," I manage.
She smiles, nervous, but real, and tugs me inside.
The house smells like her. Something sweet and clean, like vanilla and soap. I've wondered what it smelled like in here. Now I know, and I'm never going to forget it.
Her parents are in the living room.
I know this because the second we walk in, a woman's voice says, "Claire, is that him?"
"Yeah, Mom," Claire says. "This is Nash."
I round the corner and get my first look at them.
