Chapter 27
“I realized I might not have been clear in my intentions.”
I’m standing in the doorway of my cottage, at the end of my Sunday with Arthur and the lights, and Booker is back on my porch.
With a pizza.
And those eyes.
“Oh?” I try to tell myself to stay strong, arm’s length, aloof, but I feel my resolve crumble the second I see him standing
outside. I’m like a giddy teenager the second I step onto the porch.
And when he says, “I want to date you,” all bets are off.
Never mind the way it sends my pulse racing, the way I could easily lose all sense of reason. It’s like the part of me that
cares about that decided it needed a nap.
“You want to date me,” I repeat, looking down at the pizza box, then back at him. I have to keep this light or else I’m going
to get lost. “And feed me more pizza?”
“Yes.” He smirks. “You seem to really like pizza.”
“I’m leav—”
“Leaving at the end of the summer,” he cuts in. “I know, I know. But I like you, Rosie.” He takes a step closer. “I’ll take
whatever time I can get.”
It’s not late enough for it to be dark outside, but I almost wish it were.
I’m certain my face is showing every single emotion I’m trying not to have.
I assumed that the night at the bar was just a glitch because this whole past week we’d hung out and talked and had our second Friday questions—and it really seemed like he’d backed off of the whole idea.
“I was kind of waiting for your cue, but you’re hard to read,” he says.
“I know,” I say, because I could’ve easily been straight with him.
“I think there’s something here,” he says. “I had fun with you. It’s nice. We can keep it casual.”
“I don’t really do casual,” I say.
“Neither do I.” He leans against the doorjamb and smiles down at me.
“Then why would we start dating?” I ask lightly.
“Because we’re trying new things this summer?” He smiles—a casual smile—and I don’t know why I’m bothering to pretend. I’m going to give in. I’m going to agree to dating him against all logic,
and that should concern me more than it does.
Because I have a feeling I won’t be able to say no to this man. Because I had fun with him too. And also because I like him.
I like that he feels safe. That he knows a few things about me that nobody else knows—and he doesn’t seem to mind that I’m
full of flaws.
I like that I actually want to tell him all of my secrets, even though wanting it terrifies me.
And I really like that he’s a grown-up. No games. He just says what he feels. That’s hard to find.
I shake my head. “This is a really bad idea.”
His smile is slightly wicked. “My favorite kind.”
He takes a step toward me, and I draw in a slow, deep breath. It’s been a while since I kissed anyone, and honestly? The only
thing I’m thinking about is trying to remember how to do it. Is it like riding a bike? Will muscle memory kick in? What if
I’m way out of my league and Booker is so much better at this than I am?
What if—but my inner monologue is silenced by his lips on mine, dashing away all my fears.
He is good at this, and while I want to hold up my end of the kissing bargain, I also want to close my eyes and let myself get swept
away for once, even though it doesn’t make sense.
He drops the pizza box onto the porch and pulls me closer, hands at my waist as I wrap my arms around his neck. His lips are
soft but firm and fully attentive to me. I lean in, our bodies pressed close, savoring each sweet movement as his mouth sweeps
over mine. There’s a fluttering inside my rib cage, like the release of a thousand happy butterflies. It’s a rush of excitement
and nerves and an endless desire that awakens something inside me. Something I’m not sure I’ve ever allowed myself to feel.
It’s a heady, intoxicating kind of kiss. So intoxicating, in fact, that when he pulls away and searches my eyes, I go up on
my tiptoes for more.
A wave of worry washes over me. I could fall for him. The thought scares me, and yet, that fear is exactly what makes this
so exciting.
I’m not sure how to reconcile that.
I don’t know how much time passes, because passion doesn’t wear a watch, and when I finally pull back, I let my gaze fall
to his chest because I feel like I’ve revealed more of myself than I intended.
“Yep. I knew it,” he says.
I try to silence my pounding heart, but I’m sure people can hear it down the block.
“Knew what?”
“Kissing you would be amazing.”
I draw my eyes to his. “Oh... you’ve thought about it?”
“Not a ton,” he says with a flirty shrug. “Only every single day since I picked you up at the bus station.”
I press my lips together to try to conceal a persistent smile. “But why? I only had eyes for Roberto.”
He laughs and tucks my hair behind my ear, his hand lingering on my neck. “And for the record, there’s nothing casual about
the way I feel about you, Rosie.” He steps back, pushing a hand through his hair. “I know that probably freaks you out. It
kind of freaks me out too. I know all the reasons this doesn’t make sense... I shouldn’t like you this much already.”
“I know what you mean.” I take a step away, letting the door of my cottage close. “But... I’m still leaving.”
He steps toward me. “Can we pretend?”
“I don’t want to pretend. Not with you.” I screw my eyes shut because all at once I’m afraid they might give me away.
He takes my hand and gives a gentle tug. I don’t resist, mostly because I like the way it feels to keep him close. He kisses
me again, this time so sweetly it makes me want to cry. Because this is what I want. Isn’t this what everyone wants?
To love and be loved? To share life with a person who knows all of the things you don’t say out loud and chooses you anyway?
But—and I remind myself of this again—Booker is not that person for me.
Booker isn’t going to suddenly decide to leave Bertie and move to New York. And as much fun as I’m having, directing shows
for senior citizens in Wisconsin isn’t my dream.
The thought assaults my mind and I pull back.
“Can we just... see?” he asks.
“Or maybe we go back to being friends?” This shouldn’t be that hard. I’ve only known Booker a few weeks. Never mind that it
only took days for me to realize he was different.
“Uh... I don’t think I can.”
The air between us is charged.
“Yeah,” I half laugh. “That was a stupid thing to suggest.” My shoulders slump at the realization that we’re at a crossroads and I don’t want to choose a path. I just want to sit here with him for as long as I can.
“Maybe we don’t need to figure it all out right now,” he says. “Maybe we just keep hanging out and see where it goes?”
“Like, live in the moment?”
He shrugs as if to say, “Might not be the worst plan . ”
But I’m not so sure. Actors are trained to stay in the moment in classes and in scene work. Can I do that in my real life, even though it goes against my nature? I’ve always been a person
who operates with a plan. This—me and Booker—wouldn’t have a plan. But it would have an end date. Normally, knowing that would
make me run the other way. Better to protect my heart from what I see coming for it.
So why do I hear myself say, “We can try?”
“Okay.” He smiles. “I’m all for trying.”
And as he leans in to kiss me again, I note that Booker Hayes is under my skin, on my mind, and pushing my buttons. Not in
an annoying way. In an “I’m not sure I can keep my hands off him” kind of way.
And it’s a disaster. A delicious disaster.