Page 33 of Stay Scared

The whiskey scents the space between us.

Cade leans back. “You told me relationships were horror movies where everyone died slowly.”

“That was a good line.”

“It was honest.”

“Those things can coexist.”

“You said you didn’t date.”

“I didn’t.”

“You said you were better alone.”

“I was.”

“Then you kissed me outside.”

“You were less irritating after whiskey.”

His bare fingers tap once against the table.

“You planned the second date before the first one ended.”

“I mentioned an arcade.”

“You mentioned a horror festival.”

“That, flour covering his hands, was me mentioning an option.”

“That was you making plans while insisting you didn’t want any.”

I glance back toward the apartment set, where the photograph of Cade sitting on the kitchen floor with flour covering his hands is still visible through the open doorway.

“Did you ever learn how to make pizza?”

The question catches him off guard.

Cade follows my attention to the photograph. “Eventually, I did.”

“You nearly set off the smoke alarm.”

“The smoke alarm was dramatic.”

“You served me dough with warm cheese on top.”

“I was twenty-six. I thought confidence could cook pizza.”

A laugh gets out before I can decide whether he deserves it.

Cade looks at me.

He used to treat moments like this as openings. If I laughed during an argument, he moved closer. If I softened, he pushed until the entire mood belonged to him again.

This time, he stays across the table.

He takes another drink and lets me have the laugh without trying to turn it into proof of anything.