“No one will find us here,” I whisper.
We sway to nothing more than the beating of our hearts.
“You aren’t wearing your glasses,” I note. Curiosity has gripped me the last few hours realizing how much I like knowing she’s wearing my lenses, that she didn’t shatter my gift the moment I gave it.
She touches her face like she’s forgotten too. Then smirks at me. “Well, you said girls in glasses weren’t your type.”
“And you believed me? I thought you’d realize by now how I was lyingthrough my teeth, trying to describe the opposite of you, so you wouldn’t see right through me.”
“Oh,” she says simply.
“I do like how I can see your eyebrows better without your glasses.”
“My eyebrows?” she asks, aghast. Her fingers draw to her dark brows as if she must verify they still exist.
“You shaming what I find attractive about you, Walsh?”
“No, I’m just—”
“Surprised?”
“Appalled.”
I laugh. “Then I won’t mention anything else.”
“Wait, no.” I can see the curiosity enter her eyes; those eyebrows bend for a moment. “What else do you like about me?”
“You first.” My heart stops at the idea of her noting anything.
Her head tilts. “This freckle by your jaw.”
“The freckle by my jaw?”
“Yes, this freckle really does it for me.” She points.
I nod, playing into her game. “You must have it bad to note my freckles.”
“Just that one freckle, Murphy.” She holds up her index finger, places it gently against my jaw, right by my ear. She’s practically cupping my face. “Just the one.”
“Ahh, so without this one freckle?”
She slowly shakes her head. But her teasing eyes tell a different story. One of a similar desire I know is spinning in mine.
“Well, I’ll have to make sure it’s never covered then, won’t I?”
I can read everything I need to know in her eyes and the way they crinkle around the edges now. Like when her eyebrows pull into a more serious expression a moment later.
“I like the sound of your voice,” she whispers. “Not just the sound,” she corrects. “I like talking with you.”
I still, the irony of it all pressing in. “And for so long I couldn’t talk to you.”
“I know.” Her head tucks nicely on top of my shoulder. “It’s funny how I used to think you were quiet. And now when you are, I realize how much that’s changed. You’re… you’re my best friend.”
My heart skips, literally skips.Best friend.It’s a simple phrase. But when it encapsulates Farren, it’s everything. Her kindness, her passions, her beauty, the way she’s my best friend as well as the girl I love.
“Is that weird?” she asks. Because of course, right as she’s saying she likes to talk to me, I’ve gone silent.
“That means I’m your type,” I whisper.
