by Jen Morris
“Except for when you nearly broke your back on the ice.”
“Well… that part wasn’t great.” He turns to lean back against the counter opposite me, his eyes animated as they move over my face. “But the rest of it was. Even the bit after.”
I look down at my tea and press my lips together in an attempt to contain my smile. Is he referring to the part where he took half his clothes off and I had to use superhuman strength to resist him?
My eyes drift back up to his. He’s sinking his teeth into his bottom lip, his gaze resting on me, and for a second I wonder if he felt what I felt, in that tiny room when I was icing his shoulder. Because there was a moment when I thought maybe he did, but that’s unlikely. I’m prone to imagining these sorts of things.
I clear my throat, forcing the image from my mind. I’m going to have to work a lot harder on not getting caught up in Michael fantasies with this new writing opportunity.
“So, um, I got some good news about my writing today.”
“Yeah?”
“An online magazine wants me to write a few articles for them.” I try to hold back my grin but I can’t. “And if the articles do well, it could become a regular thing, like a column on their site.”
“No way!” His mouth curves into a broad smile. “That’s awesome.”
“I know.” I do a happy hop on the spot and Michael laughs.
“When will you find out?”
I think back to what Justin said. “They’re launching the column in the new year, so probably in a couple of weeks.”
“And what’s it about?”
Bugger. I was kind of hoping we wouldn’t have to get into all that.
“Oh, you know.” I dip my teabag up and down, avoiding his gaze. “Just… things.” It’s excruciating hearing myself sometimes, I tell you. I don’t know what I was expecting—of course he was going to ask what it’s about.
I hazard a glance at him and he’s leaning against the counter, cradling his steaming cup of tea as he regards me with amusement. “Look,” he says after a pause. “I get that it can be hard to show someone a work in progress, or whatever. But you won’t even tell me what you write about. It’s almost starting to feel like, I don’t know… you don’t want me to know.”
He’s right. I haven’t wanted to tell him. I think mainly it’s because it doesn’t feel like, well, a very impressive topic. He wrote this stunning, moving memoir about walking the Appalachian Trail after his divorce. I write posts about wearing comfortable underwear because no one is going to see it. Will he even get it?
“Okay,” I say, rubbing my nose. “Just… don’t judge me, okay?”
“I won’t. I promise.”
I raise my eyes to the ceiling, unable to look at him as I speak. “I write a blog about being single.”
He’s quiet for a beat. “Okay. And what is the column going to be about, then?”
“Being single and… how great it is.”
There’s another beat of silence. When I finally make myself look at him, he’s just staring at me.
“You write about being single? Seriously?”
“Er… yes?”
“Right.” His gaze slides to the floor and his brow furrows in thought. “Why didn’t you tell me this is what you write about?”
I cringe. “I don’t know.”
I wait for him to say something, but he’s still frowning, scrubbing a hand over his beard. Eventually, he blows out a breath and lifts his gaze to mine, then his mouth softens into a sheepish little smile. “Sorry. I just… I kind of thought there was something happening here.”
I look around in confusion. “Where?”
“Between us.” He gestures to me, then him.
Us.
Wait. What?
What?!
“Are you—” I swallow hard, trying to process this. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah. At the ice rink, I thought…” he trails off, then huffs a laugh, glancing away. “I was going to ask you out.”
I gape at him as his words slot into place in my brain. Michael was going to ask me out. Michael. Asking me out. Is this for real or am I fantasizing again?
“Because…?” I prompt, wanting to make one hundred percent sure that I am understanding him correctly.
“Because I like you.”
I give a slow, mute nod, absorbing this information. My heart has taken off at a gallop and I’m desperately trying to rein it in. Of all the things I thought he was going to say when I came up here, this was not one of them.
He rakes a hand through his hair as an awkward chuckle slips from him. “Shit. I feel kind of stupid, actually.”
Oh God.
I shake my head. “No—”
“I’m sorry, Alex. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“No, really—”
“Can you just forget I said anything?”
Forget Michael said he was going to ask me out? Holy Moses. Of course I can’t bloody forget that.
I give a frustrated groan, dragging the heel of my hand over my forehead. “This complicates things.”
He grimaces. “I’m sorry. I’ve freaked you out, haven’t I? Please—forget I said anything.”
“Michael—” I open and close my mouth, hesitating. It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him that I like him too. But… what will that mean? Will he ask me out?
My pulse ticks up at the thought—at going out to dinner, maybe, somewhere nice. He’d be the perfect gentleman, we’d have a lovely time, he might even kiss me…
Fuck.
I drag my gaze away from him, my mind in free fall. I want that. I want all that.
But I shouldn’t want that. I know better than to fall for it again, to give in to my romantic side. Harriet pointed it out: the definition of insanity is doing the same thing and expecting different results. And what did Mum say, that I’m always dreaming of Prince Charming?
No. I don’t want to be that person anymore. I know better than to hope for a fairy-tale ending again.
Besides, what would that mean for this opportunity with my writing? Justin never said I had to be single, but how the hell would I write a column championing the single life if I wasn’t? They wouldn’t offer it to me, would they?
I shake my head, clearing away the jumble of thoughts. There’s too much at stake to give in to what I ultimately know is a bad idea.
“It’s fine, don’t be silly. You haven’t freaked me out.”
He eyes me uncertainly. “Are you sure? I don’t want to lose you as a friend.”
God, he looks so adorable, like he’s actually worried I’m going to walk away from him.
“I’m sure,” I say, resisting the urge to reach over and cuddle him. “I want us to stay friends.”
“Okay. Good.” He straightens up, giving me a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Well, that’s great news about your writing.”
I raise my cup of tea to my lips, nodding absently.
“You must be excited,” he adds.
“Yeah,” I mumble. And I sip my luke-warm tea, wondering why the excitement I felt earlier has all but evaporated.
23
I straighten the Christmas tree in the window display, smiling faintly as a customer passes. The whole store has a festive feel to it, with the tinsel and the music. There’s no escaping the holiday season around here, no matter how much I might want to.
I still cannot believe Michael said he wanted to ask me out. This whole time I had a crush on him, and he liked me too. I have to keep reminding myself that I actually didn’t imagine that part. And it’s… well, it’s bittersweet.
I know I’m doing the right thing by focusing on my writing, even if some of the shine has gone from it. At the end of the day, it’s not even about choosing my career over a guy. It’s about the fact that I’m choosing to go against that inner urge—the one that is telling me to throw caution to the wind and to, most likely, throw my heart under a bus. The one that has steered me wrong so man
y times before.
“It has to be a guy.” Geoff taps a finger against his lip, eyes narrowed at me as I wander over.
“What?”
“The reason you’ve been moping around all morning.”
I shake my head, attempting to paint on a smile.
“Oh, come on!” He’s rearranging the Staff Picks shelf without paying much attention. He’s much more interested in talking to me.
I release a long, resigned sigh. “Okay. Fine. It is.”
He pushes his glasses up his nose, his eyes growing wide. “Yes?”
Despite my crappy mood, a laugh tickles my throat. He’s going to love this. “You know my neighbor—”
“Sexy Michael,” he says, his eyes wider still.
“It’s him.”
“I knew it!” he exclaims, startling a customer. We both shoot her an apologetic smile then Geoff turns back to me, lowering his voice. “So, what’s happening then?”
“Nothing,” I say, waving a hand. “Well, he told me he wanted to ask me out.”
Geoff manages to suppress his squeal, but only just. It squeaks out the side of his mouth like a balloon slowly deflating.
I snort a laugh. “Nothing is going to happen.”
“What? Why not?”
“I—” I stop, wondering how to explain my newfound cynicism when it comes to love. Then I just shake my head, settling on the easiest explanation. I told Geoff about the articles I’m writing—and the possibility of getting a permanent column—as soon as I arrived at the store this morning. So I know he’ll understand. “If I want to write this single column, I won’t be able to date, so…” I lift a shoulder, as if all of this is no big deal and I don’t kind of feel like I’m dying inside.
“Do you like him?”
“He’s… okay.”
Geoff lifts his eyebrows and I feel a smile push at my lips.
“Alright. Yes. I like him.” Understatement of the freaking century.
“And you think it’s worth choosing your writing over him?”
I let my gaze slide down to the display, straightening a copy of The Great Gatsby. “It’s the whole reason I came to the city. And this is a huge opportunity for me. I still can’t believe that I’m going to get my writing published on Bliss Edition, and that I could even become one of their writers. It’s crazy.”
“It’s great,” Geoff says with a grin. “And I’m not at all surprised. You’re a fantastic writer.”
“Aw, thanks.” I pause, wondering if I should tell him about my romance novel. He saw me borrow those books a while back, so I’m sure he won’t be surprised. “I’ve also been working on a romance novel, just for myself. It’s fun.”
Geoff’s grin widens. “I bet.”
“Yeah. I had to do something with all the—” I break off with a vague gesture, looking at my boss’s expectant face. He might be my boss, but I’ve come to see Geoff more as a friend. No reason to censor myself. “Repressed sexual energy,” I say at last.
Geoff’s biting his lip to keep from snickering. “Wow. So you really like Michael.”
I nod, feeling my smile waver. I do. And while I want so much more than to be friends with him, I’m also trying to make my peace with things as they stand.
“I think you should just go for it,” Geoff says, placing a copy of War and Peace under my name on the Staff Picks list. I roll my eyes and reach for it, placing Fifty Shades of Grey there instead.
“Geoff, are you not listening to me? I can’t. The chance to write this column is important to me and that’s what the whole bloody thing is about: being single and loving it.”
Geoff eyes me. “And are you loving it?”
I shrug.
“I see.” He’s quiet for a moment. “Well, surely you can just be friends with him? If you can manage that,” he adds with an exaggerated wink.
“I think I can. At least, I want to try.” And I’ve been mulling this over. Surely one of the things about being single is having platonic relationships with the opposite sex, including dealing with the intense urge to jump into bed with them when it’s a bad idea. This is an issue I could explore in my writing. I tell Geoff my thoughts and he nods in agreement.
“Yes. I think you’re right. So really,” he says, a wicked grin spreading across his face, “you’re going to have to spend time with him, for research. Your writing depends on it.”
I giggle. “I don’t think I have a choice.”
Geoff picks up a duster and starts working around the front display. “Hey, what are you doing for New Year’s Eve?”
“I have no idea.”
“Maybe we should throw a party.”
“What, here?” I glance around the store.
“No. We could hire a bar.”
“It’s like two weeks away! Everything will be booked. Plus it would cost a fortune.”
He adjusts his glasses, considering this. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”
“We could have the party at our place,” I suggest, and his face brightens. “I’d have to ask Cat, though. And it might not work, because there are other people in our building.”
Geoff’s eyes glint with mischief. “Perhaps the other people in the building should be invited.”
“You mean Michael?” I say wryly.
He gives an innocent shrug, as if the thought hadn’t even occurred to him. “Well, you know,” he says, focusing his attention on the display in front of him, “if Michael is there, and you are there, and neither of you have someone to kiss at midnight…” He wiggles his eyebrows playfully and a laugh bubbles in my chest.
Fuck, that sounds delicious, but what a disastrous idea that would be. I’m quite certain that if I let myself kiss Michael, I wouldn’t be able to stop. I’d be tearing his clothes off and dragging him into bed to give him the happiest fucking new year of his life.
Still, a New Year’s Eve party does sound fun—a lot more fun than spending the night at home alone.
“Fine,” I relent. “I’ll ask Cat.”
Cat’s sitting at the breakfast bar when I get home.
“Hey.” I drop my bag and kick off my shoes. “What are you doing for New Year’s? Geoff and I thought maybe we could throw a party here.”
Her eyes light up. “That’s a great idea! We should totally do that.”
I grin, firing off a text to Geoff. He sends back a row of salsa dancer emojis that makes me laugh.
“What are you up to tonight?” I pad into the kitchen, surveying the takeout bag on the counter.
“I have a date.”
“Ooh! Who with?”
“Someone I matched with on Tinder.” She stuffs some fries in her mouth. “His name’s Kyle.”
I pull a half-full bottle of wine from the fridge. “Why do you do all this? Like, why not just wait and see if you meet someone? Why all the dating apps and that?”
“Because I want a relationship. It’s not like it’s a biological clock thing, or anything—I don’t want kids. But... it would be nice to meet a good guy.”
I nod as I slide onto a seat at the breakfast bar beside her.
“It’s hard work, though,” she continues around a mouthful of burger. “All the dressing up, all the effort of putting your best foot forward, not letting them see your faults and all that. It’s like going on a job interview.”
I take a long sip of wine. “Why not just be yourself?”
“Dating is like a sport, here. There are all these unspoken rules and it just feels like a test, the whole time. But… you have to play the game if you want to win.” She shrugs, taking a big bite of her burger and chewing thoughtfully. “It’s not like I’m not picky,” she says after a while. “I know what I want, and that’s someone who’s nothing like my ex.”
“What’s your ex like?”
“Ugh. Mark’s a dick.” Cat makes a face, flicking through her phone and showing me a picture. On the screen is a guy with dark mussed hair and gray-blue eyes. He’s holding a leather jacket over one shoulder, ho
oked on his finger like guys do when they think they’re cool, and there’s a silver chain around his neck. I can’t quite put my finger on what it is, but there’s something kind of slimy about him.
“He thinks he’s so cool with his tattoos and his ripped jeans. And he flirts with women constantly—he even did it when we were together. He just drives me nuts. So basically anyone who is the opposite of him has a chance.” She picks up her burger, taking another bite. I reach for a fry but she bats my hand away.
“Why are you eating now? You’re not going to dinner?”
“No, we are. But I usually order a salad on a date, so the guy doesn’t think I’m a pig. Then I end up starving like an hour later.”
I snort, pushing off the stool and wandering over to my bedroom nook. “Is Mel going out with you tonight?”
“No.” Cat stands and tosses the takeout bag in the garbage. “I think she’s started seeing someone, but she won’t tell me anything about him.”
“Yeah, she mentioned something at brunch, but she wouldn’t tell me much. Do you think she’s waiting to see if it becomes serious first?”
Cat leans against the kitchen counter. “I’m not sure. Usually she’s pretty open when she’s dating someone. But for some reason she has been quiet about this one.” She shrugs, then wanders into the bathroom and runs the shower.
I recline on my bed, my phone vibrating with a text. When I see it’s from Michael, pleasure sings through my bloodstream.
Michael: Hey! What are you up to tomorrow afternoon? I thought of another classic New York place you need to see.
Well, that sounds interesting. And what a great opportunity for me to test my we-can-just-be-friends theory.
Alex: I’m free, what were you thinking?
Michael: It’s a surprise. Pick you up at 3 p.m.
A surprise? My stupid heart skitters about with excitement, and I make myself inhale deeply. We’re just friends, for God’s sake. My body isn’t listening, but it’s fine.
Alex: Sounds good :)
I set my phone down and reach for my laptop, determined to get started on an article for Justin. But as I stare at the flashing cursor, my mind keeps straying to Michael, to what this little surprise of his could be.