Chapter Five
I am deliciously warm when I wake. Deliciously warm and exceptionally comfortable, which is odd considering that no matter how many blankets Lara gave me, a floor is still a floor and I don’t remember being so …
My eyes snap open as something soft presses against me and I see nothing but a tangle of black curls. A tuft of it is practically in my mouth, and I slowly crane my neck, trying not to move.
At some point during the last few hours Lara came down from the couch to me.
I don’t know why or how, but I’m going to guess she didn’t fall because, despite being a deep sleeper, that definitely would have woken me and she doesn’t seem concussed or annoyed in any way.
She’s tucked up against me, cocooned in a blanket and sleeping soundly.
It is not an unwelcome development. But it is a fragile one.
I look carefully over my shoulder to see the fire is dead. The room is cold outside of the little nest we’ve created and one glance out the window shows it’s still dark. The kind of dark where I have absolutely no idea what time it is.
I’m just about to try and go back to sleep when Lara makes a small noise, and I freeze, weirdly nervous as she stirs. Images of her stretching her arms and smiling at me flash through my mind, and I hold my breath as she shifts, eyes blinking open as she peers up …
And screams.
Her yell makes me yell and when she tries to move away, she finds herself trapped by her own blanket as her forehead meets my face.
“Shit!” She scrambles into a sitting position. “Sorry. I’m sorry!”
“’S fine,” I mumble, holding my nose. “Still got those reflexes, I see.”
“I’m used to sleeping alone,” she says apologetically before looking around in confusion. “How the hell did I get down here?”
“That’s what I was wondering,” I say, still a little thickly. “Is your forehead okay?”
She stares at me. “I almost broke your nose and you want to know how my forehead is?”
“Your forehead’s much cuter than my nose,” I say, and again I see it. The same face she made on the stairs. Almost like a wince. “What?”
“Nothing,” she says. “I’ll get the fire.
” She eases herself up, moving slowly, almost purposefully, like she’s trying to stop herself from fleeing the room.
She has the flames high in no time, though, and I try not to read too much into the fact that she doesn’t return to her spot on the couch.
Instead, she nestles back down beside me, crossing her legs under her.
“Still no electricity,” she says.
“No.” I gingerly pat my nose. “We’ll have to do old people things like go for walks and write letters.”
“A stroll around the room?”
“You could read to me while I elegantly recline.”
She smiles a little. “You won’t like the kind of books I read.”
“I liked the ones I tried,” I say, but she just seems confused.
“What ones?”
“On your Great Shelf.”
“On my …” She blinks. “On my Goodreads?”
“That’s the one.” So close.
“You’re on Goodreads?”
“Your account is public. I had a look. I downloaded some. I’m a patron of the arts.”
But instead of looking pleased, she looks incredibly alarmed. “What ones did you read?”
“Uh …” Shit. I rack my brains, trying to remember. “There was a werewolf one. One with a guy with wings. One with a guy with tattoos and wings.”
“Oh my god.”
“An alien guy with tattoos.”
“That’s—”
“Two alien guys with—”
“Okay.” She holds up a hand.
“I think they were brothers.”
The hand goes to her face. “Why did you read them?”
“Why not?” I ask, amused. “You liked them. I figured they were good.”
She doesn’t move for a long second and then she takes a deep, heavy breath.
“Okay,” she mumbles, dropping her hand. “That’s fine. It’s fine.”
“Did you read anything good on the plane?” I want to laugh when she just groans. “How can you read that stuff and then blush every time you talk about them?”
“Because I don’t usually talk about them!”
“I thought you went to a book club.”
“We don’t read those kinds of books there.”
“Then it sounds like you need a new club.”
“Maybe.” She sighs. “Though part of the fun of them is not having to think too much. I read them to escape.”
“Like going to the Canaries,” I say solemnly, and she rolls her eyes. But she’s smiling while she does it.
“How long did it take you to do all of this anyway?” she asks, gazing up at the stars hanging from the ceiling.
“You’re changing the subject.”
“Yes.”
“Three days,” I say, giving in. “Should have taken two but I panicked about the lack of tinsel.”
“Half this room is tinsel.”
“Leaving the other half bereft.”
“You didn’t need to do it,” she says, her voice soft. “But I’m grateful you did.”
“What are best friends for?” I go to chuck her under the chin just as her eyes drop to mine and, for a second, I see it. Something achingly warm and beautifully bright. But then she blinks and it disappears, and the air between us turns strange once more.
“What is it?” I ask. Because something’s going on and I’m getting fed up not knowing. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Something.”
“I’m just tired.” She sits up straight, her expression tight. “Would you stop staring at me?”
“But you’re so pretty.”
“Oh, for— that!” she says, startling me. “That’s what’s wrong.”
“What is?”
“The teasing! The compliments and the flirting and the we’ll have to share body heat. That.” Her hands come down with a thump on the blanket, her outburst over as quickly as it began. I feel like she’s whacked me in the face all over again.
“I didn’t know it bothered you,” I say when she doesn’t continue. “I’m sorry. I’ll stop.”
She stares bleakly ahead, not seeming to have heard me.
“Lara?” I press, but she just looks pained.
“I can’t seem to stop snapping at you, can I? Even after you went to all this trouble.”
I force a smile. “I tend to have that effect on people.”
“I used to be so good at this,” she whispers, and I’m back to being confused.
“At what?”
“Pretending.” And before I can ask her what she means, she meets my gaze. “Do you know why I really came home?” she asks. “Why I didn’t stay in Berlin?”
I shake my head.
“It’s because I wanted to see you. Just you. I missed you and I wanted to spend time with you. Because you always know what to do. You always make everything better and I know I take it for granted—”
“Lara—”
“No, just let me say this,” she says, and I shut up.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen her look more uncomfortable, and when she speaks next, it’s slow, as if each word is a struggle.
“It’s hard being your friend sometimes. And not because you do anything wrong.
It’s hard because sometimes … for a long time actually, I’ve wanted to be more. ”
I nod automatically, trying to be encouraging even though I have no idea what she’s talking about. “More like what?”
She ignores the question. “I’m saying that when you tease me like that, even if you’re just trying to make me feel better, it hurts because I know you don’t mean it.”
“I don’t mean it.” I repeat the words out loud, but no. They definitely mean what I think they mean. “Who says I don’t mean it?”
A hint of frustration enters her expression. “I do.”
“Why?”
“Because you’ve never shown any interest in me like that.”
It’s a point I should correct her on, because I think I’ve been a little too obvious about it, truth be told, but I’m starting to feel a little lightheaded, like I’ve stood up too fast or drank too much, and now all I can think about is …
“How long’s a long time?”
She doesn’t respond.
“A week? Two weeks?” I swallow, my mouth suddenly dry. I think I’m sweating. Am I sweating? “Three?”
“I guess since university, I …” She trails off uncertainly and now I’m just gaping at her.
“Since university?”
“Maybe.”
“Our one?”
“Yes.”
“That we attended together?”
She scowls. “Okay, now you’re just making fun of me.”
“I’m not making fun of you.” My forehead feels clammy. I’m definitely sweating. “I’m trying to figure out why you didn’t say anything before.”
“Because I was shy! I’m not as good as you are with the social stuff. You know that. Especially back then. I was nervous and awkward and half in love with you and thought you just wanted to be friends.”
I’m about to call her out on all the hundreds of things wrong with what she just said, but my brain gets stuck on those five little words. Those five very little yet very big words.
“You were half in love with me?”
She looks lost for precisely one second and then so horrified it would be funny if it didn’t feel like she held my heart in her hands. “What?”
“You said you were half in love with me.”
“It’s an expression.”
“Yes,” I say. “Of love.”
“Of a crush,” she stresses. “I had a crush.”
“On me.” She frowns and I hold up my hands. “I’m just making sure of things.” And trying not to lose my mind. “I did show interest,” I continue, doing my best to sound calm. “I flirted with you.”
“You flirt with everyone.”
“Yeah, but I don’t decorate their houses for Christmas, do I? I don’t spend my Friday nights as a twenty-year-old helping them memorize medical textbooks. I let you practice taking blood from me. Which you were bad at, by the way. I had bruises on my arm for weeks.”
“You have small veins.”
“I have excellent veins. You were just shit at phlebotomy. Yes, I remember doctor stuff,” I add when her brows rise.
“We basically read the same books. I should have been given an honorary degree.” I rub a hand down my face, trying to keep my thoughts from spiraling.
I’m not sure what’s happening right now.
But I know that all she needs to do is get up.
Go to the bathroom. The kitchen. Anywhere.
She just needs to turn away from me and I’ll never bring it up again.
Because if we keep talking like this, I’m going do something stupid like profess my ever-undying love for her and then that’s goodbye friendship. It was nice while it lasted.
But she doesn’t do any of those things. She just stays there. Watches me.
Waits. Like she can’t believe this is happening. Like she’s just as confused as me.
“I never made a move when we were younger because you were usually dating someone, and I’m not a dick,” I say.
“Then I thought I was reading the room. I thought you didn’t feel that way about me.
And I respected that. But to be clear, every time I flirted with you, I meant it.
Every time you caught me looking at you a little too long, I was probably thinking about kissing you.
I think you are funny and interesting and kind and I have, since the day we met, found you incredibly attractive. Okay?”
“Okay,” she says, her eyes wide. She’s looking at me like I’ve grown another head, but I guess I’ve never spoken so forcefully before. I don’t know how else to make her see, though. Don’t know how to …
I rub my face again. Since university.
You’ve got to laugh or you’d cry, right?
“So how do you want to do this?” I ask.
“Do what?”
“Us.”
“Oliver—”
“Dinner? Coffee? Dinner,” I decide for us. “At that Italian place where they give you free limoncello. You love that place.”
“You want to go for dinner?”
“I want to take you out for dinner. I’ll collect you and I’ll pay. We’ll have a nice time. And then, if you want to, we can try the kissing thing again.”
“The kissing thing?”
“The kissing thing,” I confirm, my mind racing ahead.
I feel like I’ve just sprinted down the road.
My heart is pumping. My body buzzing. Part of me still expects Lara to shut it all down.
But I don’t think she will. I think I’ve finally gotten through to her because there’s a spark behind her eyes that wasn’t there before.
An extra weight to her attention that I feel down to my bones.
And then I change my mind. Because she’s right. We deserve to have the best version of this life.
Of us.
And god knows we’ve wasted enough time.
“Or,” I say. “We could try right now.”