Chapter 12 #2
The question caught me off guard because it sounded like something a therapist might say. “I’m stoic or standoffish and maybe a little rough around the edges.”
“I don’t think that about you at all,” Atticus said before tilting his head and studying me. “Well, maybe at first glance, but there’s nothing standoffish or rough about you.”
“How do I come across to you, then?” I wanted to take the words back as soon as they left my mouth, and my discomfort grew while Atticus took his sweet time considering his answer.
“I think you’re still, not stoic. Everyone knows that still waters run deep.
” He pointed to the pond, where Matilda and Marty had resumed their peaceful gliding.
“Above the water, nothing is moving, but their feet are going wild under the surface. I think you’re a lot like that. I bet your brain doesn’t rest much.”
“Not really.”
“And you seem like you’re always on alert, as if maybe you’re stuck in a permanent protector mode,” Atticus said, his voice and expression softening with tenderness.
“I think you shoulder the burden for things you shouldn’t, and it must get exhausting.
” He scooted closer but didn’t reach for me like I wanted him to.
“We’re safe right here. There are no threats. No one will bug us.”
His perception was so accurate it was scary. Atticus made me feel seen and vulnerable, but in the best ways. I must’ve held his gaze without responding for a beat too long because his cheeks turned pink.
“Sorry,” Atticus said. “I didn’t mean to get so philosophical. No wonder I can’t make friends.”
I snorted. “I don’t believe that.”
“It’s true. The last friend I made was Emma. She showed up as the new girl one day in third grade and claimed me as her best friend. We’ve been inseparable ever since.”
“That’s adorable.” Everything about Atticus was so damn charming. I shifted my attention to unpacking the cooler before I did something dumb, like drag him into my lap and kiss him breathless.
“Wow,” Atticus said once I’d set all the containers on the bench and handed him a fork. “Just simple food, huh?”
“Yep.”
“Did you toast your own pita chips?” Atticus asked as he dipped one into the hummus.
Heat spread up the back of my neck. “Okay, so I’m a lot to take sometimes.”
“I bet you’re a lot to take most of the time,” Atticus said, his voice dripping with innuendo. “Sorry. I’ll behave.” Then he bit into the pita chip and moaned in the most misbehaving way. Fuck, was he that vocal in bed too?
“Uh-huh,” I said, looking around to make sure no one was close enough to overhear us. “You might want to tone it down, or there will be rumors about us engaging in sex at the pond.” And damn if that didn’t sound like the best idea I’d ever heard.
Atticus hunched his shoulders and giggled. “Sorry.” Then he nudged the container of hummus closer to me and said, “Have some.”
I dipped a chip into the hummus and had to admit it was damn good. “Not bad at all.”
Atticus reached over and swiped his thumb over the corner of my mouth to remove hummus remnants.
Instead of wiping his hand on a napkin I provided, he stuck the digit in his mouth and sucked it clean.
My blood started moving south, and I fought the urge to squirm on the bench.
Think of something to say, dumbass. But my brain gave me nothing to work with. Traitor.
“I must suck at making friends too,” I admitted. “I can’t think of a good conversation starter. Weather and baseball are common topics, but what’s to talk about? It’s fucking hot outside, and the Braves are braving.”
Atticus cocked his head to the side as if pondering our awkwardness while he ate quiche. He swallowed, wiped his mouth with a napkin, and held up his forefinger. “I got it. Let’s talk about what we did over the weekend.”
I’d spent the entire two days thinking about Atticus, planning food for him, and fucking my fist while fantasizing about him. I needed time to come up with alternative activities to discuss, so I blurted, “You go first.”
“Aw, I like a man who insists I go first.” Atticus winked, and then he launched into a cute summary of going to a neighborhood yard sale event with his best friend, Emma, and her grandmother, Ramona.
He’d diverted the story long enough to tell me that Ramona was Emma’s hair emergency on Friday night.
Ramona had wanted to give herself layers and bangs, which apparently hadn’t gone well.
I understood the last one but was clueless about layers.
All I knew was that Ramona was my hero. Thanks to her, I got locked in the closet with Atticus and shared one hell of an epic kiss.
“Yard sales, huh? You seem kinda young for that.”
“Maybe,” Atticus said. “I guess I’m curious about the things people deem unworthy and disposable.” There was a hint of sadness in his expression that caught my attention, but he blinked, and it was gone. “Your turn. What did you do this weekend?”
“Well, I slept a lot to prepare for the shift change.”
Atticus bit his lower lip. “Thank you.”
“I did the laundry and researched new recipes.”
Atticus widened his eyes, and his voice came out breathy when he said, “For me?”
Why would that be so surprising? Then I remembered his remark about no one making him lunch since elementary school.
Atticus deserved thoughtful gestures all the time.
I barely knew him, and yet I understood that.
How had no one else? Our gazes met and held.
I needed him to see the truth when I said, “Yes, for you.”
Atticus swallowed hard. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Neither one of us moved, ate, or even blinked. Something big and scary passed in the space between us.
“What’s the next topic?” I asked.
Atticus hummed as he considered my question, never taking his eyes off mine. “If you could be anywhere in the world right now, where would it be?”
“Right here.” And holy fuck, I meant it.
“With me?”
“Yes.”
Atticus inhaled slowly and deeply. “Do you say such sweet things to all your friends?”
This was my chance to backpedal, but I didn’t want to take the words back. “No. Just you.”
Atticus held my gaze for several heartbeats. Then his lips curved into a beautiful smile. “I’d choose you too.”
Damn, we were so bad at this friendship thing.
Reaching the oak tree first on Tuesday, I sat down on my side of the bench and watched the pond’s surface ripple beneath a soft breeze. I closed my eyes and imagined the wind sweeping all my negative thoughts away. Goodbye, guilt. Don’t let the door hit you in the ass, fear. So long, self-doubt.
The delicious smell of fried chicken interrupted my nature therapy session a few seconds before I heard Atticus approach. Turning my head, I took in the gorgeous curve of his sunny smile and the joy that radiated from his every pore. Hello, happiness. It’s been a long-ass time, my old friend.
“Sorry I’m late,” Atticus said breathlessly.
“I hope like hell you didn’t run all the way here from the cafeteria in this heat.”
Atticus dropped onto the bench beside me, and not the two feet we usually kept between us.
The urge to move didn’t strike, so I stayed put.
The desire to touch him hit me with the strength of a bomb, so I did.
Placing my hand on the back of his neck, I rubbed away the tension while Atticus closed his eyes and enjoyed the breeze.
“Heaven,” he said.
“Or as close as we’ll get.”
Atticus took a deep breath and sighed. “Okay. It’s my turn to feed you, and I pulled out all the stops.” He looked over at me, then down at the heavenly smelling bag of food on his lap, as if just realizing how close he’d sat down. “Oops. I didn’t leave room for our picnic.”
I reluctantly dropped my hand to the back of the bench, and he scooted down. “The tongues would really wag if we started carrying a blanket to the pond with us every day.”
Atticus lifted a container from the bag and froze. “Every day, huh?”
“Well, I…”
Biting his lip, Atticus set the carton down. “I’m just teasing.” Then he lowered his gaze to the bag once more and added, “But this is one of those times I find it almost impossible to resist you.”
My heart leaped into my throat and beat wildly. “Oh yeah? And what would you do?”
“Kiss you, for one thing.”
“For one thing? You’d do more than kiss me in front of the residents and fellow employees?” I gestured at the pond and said, “And the ducks?”
Atticus pursed his quivering lips together, but the dam broke easily, spilling magical laughter into the air. “If our kiss on Friday was anything to go by, I’d likely forget where I was and climb onto your lap as soon as our lips touched.” He shook his head sadly. “I can’t be trusted.”
“It’s a good thing we’re just friends, then,” I said with absolute zero conviction. “For the ducks’ sake.”
Atticus scoffed. “Those sluts canoodle and do whatever ducks do without regard for our feelings.”
I looked out at the water, where Marty was shaking his tail feathers for Matilda. “You have a point.”
“But, yeah, just friends,” Atticus said.
“That’s what you can give me, and that’s what I agreed to accept.
” He briefly closed his eyes and shook his head.
“Yikes, I didn’t mean to make it sound like your friendship is a consolation prize for not getting your dick.
” Eyes widening, Atticus pointed to his mouth. “Uh-oh. It’s about to run off again.”
I did the only possible thing I could think of to save Atticus and pressed my lips to his. I didn’t dare linger, not that I really believed he’d straddle my lap on the bench. When I pulled back, Atticus smiled at me and held up his thumb and forefinger a centimeter apart.
“This close,” he said. “I’d lifted one leg off the bench.”
“And we better change the subject before we get into trouble.”
“Fine,” Atticus said, handing me a rectangular carryout container.
“What’s in here?”
“Sofia’s finest. Chicken, collard greens, black-eyed peas, and cornbread.”