Chapter Twenty-Seven
MORGAN
Will stares at me, his lips parted.
I walk toward him, not sure what to say. My heart thunders, and my palms have started to sweat. I smooth out my dress to wipe them off. I never dreamed he’d still be here. Now that we’re face-to-face, I’m wondering what comes next.
He’s holding a coffee cup, so I stop at the ICEE station before I reach him. Not breaking eye contact, I pull a red-and-blue cup from the holder.
He watches, a crease forming between his brows.
I twirl the cup to keep from fidgeting. “I want you to know I didn’t invite my ex to the wedding.
” The pink polish on my bare toenails gleams against grimy linoleum tiles.
“I’m sorry for everything. For pushing you away.
For being a grumpy work partner. For not punching Leo in the eye when he wouldn’t let me go during that dance. I wanted to find you.”
His feet shift on the linoleum floor.
When he makes no immediate comment, I pull the level on the awful frozen raspberry, the electric-blue stream spooling into my cup.
“I keep wondering if things would’ve turned out differently if we’d met at the wedding—rather than here.
” I shut off the machine, grab a straw, and then take a tentative step in his direction.
He nods to my ICEE, and the corners of his lips tilt up. “Are you planning to dump that on me?”
I giggle. “No. But how about a do-over?”
He reaches over to pour coffee into his cup. “Okay. And I’ve been wondering the same thing. What if things played out differently? What if we hadn’t ‘bumped into’ each other? But…I have to ask, where’s Lenny?”
I wrap both hands around the ICEE, the cold seeping into my fingers. I lift a shoulder. “I don’t know. I told him we’re not getting back together. Ever.” I take another step in his direction. “That’s what we were discussing when you left. I wish you’d said goodbye.”
He lets out a breath, running a hand through his curly hair. “Yeah, me too. But…Hudson said he saw you run off together.”
“I needed to talk to him to make sure he understood where he stands. Which is far away from me.”
Will starts to sip his coffee but makes a face and lowers it to the counter. “I owe you an apology too.” He snags my drink and sets it aside. “I’m sorry for not saying goodbye. And for your skirt and shoes and for calling you a”—he pitches his voice low—“psycho.”
“I forgive you. I already did.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Though I think the ruined clothes were a joint effort.” I reach up and smooth his rumpled tie. “And just so you know, I don’t think you’re the rudest boy in the world. So, sorry for that too.”
His dark eyes glow beneath those amazing eyelashes, and their edges crinkle up with his smile. “Forgiven. Done.”
“Good.”
“Good. So we can be—friends?”
“Yeah. We can be friends.” My cheeks warm. “But—”
He steps closer. “Yeah?”
I sigh, inching toward him. “Well, I guess you’re right. We can only be friends because you don’t do setups. Because they don’t work.”
He pushes a lock of hair behind my ear. “But if you think about it, we met before Hudson and Ava had a chance to introduce us. So…it can’t be a setup.”
“That’s a good point.”
“And what about you?” His fingers brush mine. “I heard you’re not dating until college. That’s a year away.”
“I did say that, but mostly because I’m tired of high school boys.” My hand wraps around his. “But you’re not one of those, are you?”
He glances at my lips. “No, I’m not.”
“Will.”
“Yeah?”
“I like you.”
“I like you. But”—he brings his hand to my face, thumb tracing my jaw—“I hate it when Hudson’s right.”
I rise onto my toes. “They’ll never stop bragging about this.”
We’re both smiling as our lips meet. My eyes drift closed, and he wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me closer, crushing his boutonnière between us. I grip his white dress shirt, and we share our second perfect kiss right there between the ICEE machine and the coffee maker.
A throat clears behind us, and our lips part. But we don’t jump away from each other this time.
“Young lady, I hate to interrupt, but I have to ask you to leave. No shirt. No shoes. No service.” The clerk shakes his head, laughing a bit, and heads back to the counter.
“I’m so sorry,” I call after him. “I’m going.”
Will tightens his arm, leaning in. “He’s absolutely right. I cannot believe you came in here barefoot. You’re disgusting.”
“I was in a hurry!”
He sweeps me into his arms, deposits me outside, and mutters “This is not better” before running back inside to pay for our drinks.
He returns carrying the ICEE. “I tossed the coffee, but maybe something blue for the bride?”
“Perfect.”
He threads his fingers through mine. “Back to the wedding?”
I squeeze his hand. “I owe you a dance.”