Chapter 12
T hey assumed their usual spots on Maggie’s sofa, with the dog taking up two thirds of available space.
“We’re becoming couch potatoes,” he said.
“We run five or six days a week,” she said. “Well, you run. I jog lamely behind.”
“You do fine,” he said, giving her a squeeze. His arm was around her shoulders, and her head was on his chest, tucked under his arm like a baby chick.
“We watch too much TV,” he reiterated.
“It’s midnight. What would you like to do instead, learn to hula hoop?” she asked. “There’s probably a YouTube video for that, and I actually have a hula hoop. Don’t ask why.”
“I don’t know,” he said. “It feels wrong somehow.”
She sat up, eyes wide. “You know what I figured out?”
“What?” he asked, missing her warmth. Her house was chillier than his.
“Today is September 13 th . We met a year ago today.”
“Hey, you’re right.”
“Happy friendiversary,” she said.
“That’s not a thing,” he said.
“It’s a thing because I made it a thing. Don’t ruin it,” she said.
“You’re right. Happy friendiversary.” They hugged and when they pulled apart, they were facing each other, both hands clasped and resting between them. “What should we do to celebrate?”
“Let’s eat cookies,” she suggested.
“The answer to everything is not cookies,” he said .
“How do you know unless you’ve tried to make it the answer to everything?” she said.
“Let’s review the year. Tell me your highlights,” he said. He brushed the stray hairs off her face, the ones that were trying to escape again. In the last year, he had never once seen her hair down, and he found that odd. After the many, many hours they had logged together, both at work and during their downtime, shouldn’t he have seen her hair loose at least once?
“I moved to a city I thought I would hate and ended up loving. I started a job I didn’t know if I could do.”
“And you’re rocking it. Consider this your performance review,” he said.
“Thank you. And I lost twenty pounds, something I never thought possible, given my aforementioned love of cookies,” she said.
“That’s right, you did,” he said, surveying her waist. His hand moved there and rested on her hip. “I’ve almost forgotten what you looked like before, but I’m happy to know you’ve retained your curves.”
“I don’t think you’re allowed to comment on my curves from the friend zone. Stay in your lane. Also, your hands are on my body,” she said.
“My hands almost always seem to be on your body,” he commented. He had long given up on trying to puzzle together exactly what their friendship was. It defied definition, but he liked it.
“I think I’m beginning to understand why people think we’re a thing,” she said.
“It’s all in their heads,” he said. “They don’t understand the complexities of male/female friendships.”
“Neither do I, come to think of it,” she said.
“Don’t you want to know my highlights from the year?” he asked .
“For sure,” she said.
“I met this woman.”
“Do I know her?” she asked.
“Shh. She’s smart and sweet and fun and funny and weird and an awesome cook.”
“You could have left out weird.”
“No, I really couldn’t. It’s an integral part of her,” he said.
“Is she hot?” Maggie teased.
Ridge nodded. “At first you think she’s cute, pretty, maybe even beautiful. But then you get to know her better, and she’s so, so hot.” His thumb began tracing a slow circle on her hipbone. God bless yoga pants and their skin-hugging clinginess. “Maggie, it’s been a year. I need to test something.” He let go her body and reached for her hair, pulling it out of its ubiquitous topknot. She shooed his hands aside when he got her ponytail holder hopelessly tangled. At last she pulled it free and fluffed the blond cascade gently over her shoulders.
“Yowza,” he breathed. “Keep wearing the bun thing to work, okay?”
“Why’s that?’ she asked.
“Otherwise I might genuinely drool and spend my day writing, ‘Mr. Cameron Eldridge’ on my desk.”
“You’d take my name?” she said.
“What do you think?” he asked.
“I think you’re the kind of man who likes to put his stamp on a woman,” she said.
“You know me so well,” he said. His fingers couldn’t resist sifting her hair a few times. He started at her scalp and let the silky strands flow through his fingers. Maggie closed her eyes, sighing a little.
“That feels nice,” she whispered .
“Yes, it does,” Ridge agreed. His hands slid from the crown of her hair to the nape of her neck, still skimming gently along her scalp. She went limp and leaned in to him slightly, her eyes still closed. The look of pleasure on her pretty face was so intense, he couldn’t look away. One of his hands eased forward, framing her face in his palm. His thumb slid along her jawline and skimmed lightly over her bottom lip.
Maggie’s eyes opened. They stared at each other, but neither said a word. The silence grew and stretched between them, along with the tension. “Let me check something,” he said. He took her hand and placed it over his heart and stretched out his palm and pressed it to her heart. “Our heartbeats are synched, and they’re thumping out of control. What do you think that means?”
“That we’re happy to be friends?” she guessed.
The silence returned. The tension was unbearable. They were both struggling to breathe, as if they’d run a marathon, when in fact they’d barely moved. At last he spoke, his voice ragged. “Maggie, I…I think maybe we should…” His phone buzzed and they both jumped, breaking apart and adding a few inches between them. Samson huffed in displeasure when Maggie bumped him. Ridge pulled out his phone and checked it, glad for a reprieve.
“I have to go to work,” he announced.
“Now?” she blurted.
“Now,” he said.
“Should I come with you?” she asked.
“No, but I’ll buzz you if I need you, so better get some rest and keep your phone handy.” He stood. She started to stand, but he pushed her back down and quickly removed his hand. “Don’t walk me to the door tonight. I can’t right now with you. I just can’t. ”
“All right,” Maggie said, trying hard not to be hurt by his apparent rejection.
He reached the door, turned, and blew her a kiss. “Happy friendiversary, love.”
She pretended to catch the kiss, and he smiled. When he was gone, she opened her hand and stared at her empty palm, wondering over the strange turn the night had taken.