She laughed, but it was breathy. Slightly strangled. “I wasn’t—” A rosy blush spread across her cheeks as she tucked her feet beneath her bottom and set the popcorn bowl down. “I’m not trying to. I’m tryingnotto, actually. Why do you think I’m all the way down here?”
The question wasn’t doing what she hoped it would. Because she sounded like she regretted it. Like she wanted to be closer. Next to me. Touching me.
“Whyareyou all the way down there?”
It wasn’t like I’d expected her to sit on my lap or anything, but this level of separation felt almost comical, considering we were two people who used to intertwine every limb to make it harder for my mom to force pillows between us.
“I…” She floundered for a second. “I guess I’m just trying to make it easier.”
Easier.
Nothing about this would be solved by an extra foot or two of distance on an already too-small couch.
“For who?”
“I don’t know. Both of us?”
Both of us.
That meant she was struggling with this, too. Struggling with the proximity, with not falling into old habits. Struggling not to think about the things we did that got us into this situation in the first place.
Exhaling, I reached across the couch to grab a handful of popcorn, trying to act casual. It was ridiculous, but I was more nervous around Eleanor now than I’d ever been when I was a teenager. It had been so easy back then. I was just a guy who liked a girl, and I was lucky enough that she’d liked me, too. And now, everything was messy.
“You pick what to watch,” I said, even though she appeared well on her way to doing that.
“That means you can’t complain when I pick…” She scrolled until she landed on a movie I knew she loved. “The Princess Diaries.”
“I won’t.” I didn’t give a damn what we watched as long as she let me watch it with her. “That’s perfect.”
She started the movie. And occasionally, when we reached into the bowl, our fingers would brush. A spark of electricity that should be innocent shot through my veins, but it only reminded me of all the other times I’d touched her.
Eventually, about the time that Anne Hathaway discovered she was the princess of a country no one had ever heard of before, Ellie decided to lie down. And even then, she scrunched her feet so they wouldn’t touch my legs, making a knife twist in my gut as I watched her get comfortable. As I watched her besocareful not to cross an invisible line.
I hated that line.
I wanted it gone.
“El, you can stretch out.”
We hadn’t talked much through the movie, and Ellie jerked, glancing over her shoulder at me.
“What?”
“You can put your legs on my lap, it’s okay.”
“Oh.” The idea seemed to bewilder her, but she cautiously did as I said, placing both her feet across my lap. She wore socks, but her legs were bare, and I decided the best course of action to keep me from staring at said legs was to drape a retro-colored crocheted blanket over them, which I grabbed from the back of the couch.
“Thanks,” Ellie murmured once I’d gotten everything situated so she might be more comfortable and I might be less tortured. She flashed me a tiny smile, her eyes catching on mine. They yanked something inside me when they moved back to the TV screen—that tiny glimpse, that minuscule smile, had hooked into my heart, and now she was just tugging me around.
Not really sure where to put my hands, I awkwardly stared at my lap for a few minutes before eventually resting one arm along the top of the couch and the other on the blanket, along the curve of Ellie’s foot.
“Is this okay?” I asked, and Ellie huffed a laugh.
This was so ridiculous, and we bothknewhow ridiculous it was, but, like, what else was I supposed to do?
“Yeah, Sawyer.” She snuggled deeper into the throw pillow her head rested on. “It’s okay.”
I nodded and sank further into the couch, too, willing my body to relax. I reminded myself that I’d asked for this, to stay here, to spend time with her. And it would get easier. Ithadto get easier.
