Chapter 7
Jeremiah
Time slowed as I watched Theo’s face cycle through what had to be every expression in his repertoire.
His eyebrows shot up. That was surprise, definitely surprise.
Then his eyebrows knitted together in what looked like confusion.
He was probably trying to figure out if I was serious or if this was some elaborate joke.
Me asking anyone out was a plot for a bad rom-com.
I might look like a model, but just like Twinkies, I was all soft and gushy on the inside.
Creamy goodness be damned, I wanted this date.
I barely knew the guy, but I really liked Theo and his dimples and the way his brow furrowed when he thought and those silly glasses that should’ve been contacts twenty years ago.
Although . . . he was hot in glasses.
I was so screwed.
Theo’s mouth opened slightly, then closed again. He did that a lot. Was he trying to find a polite way to let me down? Was he searching for the right words to explain that he was flattered but not interested? Was he already planning his escape route back into the house?
I mean, he didn’t really need a plan. It was his house. All he had to do was slam the door and turn around. That would’ve been rude and mean, and none of that fit the guy I thought I knew, but still, it was possible, right?
Then his features smoothed and a tiny, itty-bitty, teensy-weensy hint of a smile curled one corner of his lips. Only one corner. Not the other. A half smile. A semi-smirk. Not even a single dimple.
Huh.
This was it. This was the moment where he politely declined, maybe made some excuse about being busy or not ready to date or just not interested in guys who delivered packages and made idiotic pasta jokes.
His glasses had slipped down his nose, and he pushed them up with one finger. The gesture was so familiar, so quintessentially Theo, that it made my chest ache. I yearned to see him do that again, to reach out and do it for him. Jesus, what was happening to me? What was I thinking?
I should leave, I thought. Right now.
“You know what,” I started, taking a half step backward, “I should probably—”
But then his lips finally moved, and the word that slipped free was firm, solid, clearly intentional. He actually meant it.
“Sure.”
Sure? He’d said sure? Not “I’m flattered but no thank you,” or “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” or “Please stop showing up at my house, you creepy penile delivery stalker.”
My heart didn’t just leap—it performed a full gymnastics routine, complete with triple axels and dismount. The Russian judge gave it an eight, but the others held up tens.
Stupid Russian and her stupid sensibilities.
“Really?” A grin spread across my face so wide it probably looked deranged, and I immediately felt stupid for questioning his answer.
But Theo was smiling, a soft, slightly shy expression that made him look even more huggable. “Really.”
Before my brain could engage any kind of filter or common sense, I shot forward, my arms reaching out, and gripped his shoulders.
And kissed him.
Right there on his front porch, with Debbie probably watching from the kitchen, I pressed my lips to his. His lips were soft and warm—and for one perfect second, the entire world narrowed down to that point of contact.
It was quick—barely more than a peck.
Then reality crashed back in.
Holy shit, what had I just done? Um, what was I still doing? I jerked back, eyes wide, probably looking more like a cartoon character than a dude who’d just won a date with the neighborhood hottie.
I’d kissed him.
Holy mother of pearl.
I’d actually kissed him.
Without warning, without permission, like some kind of overeager teenager who’d never learned about personal boundaries.
Theo’s eyes were wide with shock.
“I’m sorry. God. I’m so sorry. I mean, I’m not sorry, but I am. Does that make sense? Jesus, I’m babbling. I have to go. Now. Shit.”
I turned and ran.
Actually ran down his front walkway, across his lawn, and straight to my car like some kind of coward who kisses cute librarians and then flees the scene. I threw myself into the driver’s seat, slammed the door, and let my head fall back against the headrest.
My mind reeled.
He’d said yes!
But then I kissed him.
He hadn’t pulled away.
He hadn’t exactly kissed me back, but he was caught off guard. Hell, so was I—and I was the kisser, not the kissee. I couldn’t blame him for being momentarily frozen in time and space.
Wow, I sounded all theological and shit, if only in my mind. Theological? Theologic? Those were words, right? They started with “theo” so they must be okay.
I chuckled to myself. Why did I feel so damned giddy?
And why had his eyes gone wide with surprise instead of disgust or anger when my ragged-ass lips pressed to his baby’s-butt-soft skin?
My heart argued back fiercely.
There had been something in the way he’d looked at me, hadn’t there? Some spark of interest that went beyond neighborly politeness? The way he’d stammered when we first met, how his cheeks had flushed when I’d caught him staring at my chest in the library.
Maybe he’d been giving off signals all along and I’d been too thick to catch them. It wouldn’t be the first time I’d completely missed obvious cues from someone. Hell, it probably wouldn’t even be the tenth time.
Either way, I was elated.
That’s when it hit me.
I hadn’t gotten his number.
Or arranged a day and time.
Or place.
I’d given him a whisk, asked him to dinner, he’d said yes, I’d kissed him, and then I’d run away.
This was a new level of stupid, even for me.
I groaned and banged my head against the steering wheel, then quickly hoped it hadn’t left a mark because—there was no way around it—I had to go back. I had to face whatever expression was on Theo’s face and somehow salvage this disaster.
I forced myself to stop spiraling and climbed out of the car. The walk back to his front porch felt like the longest walk in human history. Even more so because Theo was still standing in the doorway.
He hadn’t gone inside. He hadn’t locked the door.
He was just standing there, watching me approach with an expression I couldn’t quite read. As I got closer, I realized his fingers were pressed to his lips, like he was still feeling the kiss.
And he was smirking. Actually smirking.
Like he found the whole situation more amusing than horrifying.
“Forget something?” he asked as I reached the bottom of his steps.
My face burned hotter than the surface of the sun. I reached up and pushed my hair off my forehead, more to expel nervous energy than fix anything out of place. “I, uh, I didn’t get your number. Or arrange when we should . . . you know. Have dinner.”
“Ah.” His smirk widened into a full smile. “That does seem like important information for planning a date.”
A date.
Oh.
My.
Mary.
Joseph.
And the donkey.
He’d called it a date.
Ever so slowly, as if sudden movement might scare my baby deer away, I climbed back up the steps, trying to look like less of a complete disaster than I felt.
“I’m really sorry about the . . .” I gestured vaguely at his face. “The kissing and running thing. That was—”
“Unexpected,” he finished, but he didn’t sound upset. If anything, he sounded amused. “But not entirely unwelcome. I like plot twists. Librarian and all, ya know.”
Not entirely unwelcome.
I’d take that. Ten times out of ten.
“So,” I said, pulling out my phone with hands that were definitely not shaking. “Number?”
He rattled off his digits. I typed them in with the precision of a surgeon, double-checking each number because there was no way I was messing this up again.
“When are you free?” I asked.
“Friday night? If that works for you.”
That gave me four days to plan something perfect, to figure out where to take him, to maybe learn how to act like a normal human being around cute librarians.
“Friday’s perfect,” I said. “I work till six. Seven o’clock?”
“Sounds good.”
We stood there for a moment, grinning at each other like idiots.
“I should probably let you get back to dinner,” I said finally, though I was reluctant to leave now that we’d actually made concrete plans. I kinda wanted to kiss him again.
“Probably,” he agreed. “Debbie’s likely wondering why the fancy whisk hasn’t produced any pasta yet.”
“Right. Pasta.” I started backing toward my truck again, but slower this time. “I’ll text you about Friday. The details, I mean.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
As I climbed behind the wheel again, I heard Debbie’s high-pitched voice carrying from inside the house, chanting with obvious delight:
“Daddy kissed a boy! Daddy kissed a boy!”