Page 27 of Yours, Unexpectedly

Finally, her caramel and gold eyes tentatively peak up and meet mine. It takes me a second to recognize the embarrassment there but as soon as I do, I hate myself all over again.

“Hey.” I’m still whispering and I’m not quite sure why. Maybe if I do, I’ll keep her attention on me, where I always want it.

“Hi.” She rolls her eyes. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing. Tea parties with Louie are my thing.”

“Since when?” she asks, curiosity taking over the embarrassment.

“Oh, about six months after I came back to Hawthorne.” I release her chin and lean back in my seat. “I stopped by often since Gabe and I are just upstairs. Louie noticed me after a while and the rest is history. I come down here when I need to think.”

“What are you thinking about tonight?”

“You,” I answer without hesitation.

She tries to duck her head again, but my hand is back under her chin. I allow my thumb to run over her plump lower lip, and she lets out the most delicious gasp I’ve ever heard.

“What about me?” We’re back to whispering now.

“Well, as you were telling Louie, I’ve fucked up. I made you think I don’t want to be friends with you when that couldn’t be further from the truth. And as Louie so astutely pointed out, I actually want to be so much more than friends with you.” I should be terrified to tell her this, but for some reason I’m not.

I’m not, until her response is, “We shouldn’t.”

“Why not?” I scoff.

She gives her head a little shake and pulls back from me. “I don’t know, Anders. For a lot of reasons. Gabe would flip—”

“Gabe would get over it.”

“Maybe he would, but you're his best friend. I just don’t know how he’d handle that, and I’d never get in the way of your friendship. Do I have feelings for you? Of course I do. When have I not?”

Excuse me? Before I can ask that question out loud, she continues.

“Plus, you’re essentially my teacher which I’m pretty sure is frowned upon by most of —”

“I’m already taking care of that.”

“—society. Wait, you’re what?”

“I mean, I haven’t taken care of it yet, but I can. I’m in if you’re in.”

She puts her elbows up on the bar and runs her hands down her face. “I’m honestly so confused right now. You don’t understand. I’ve dreamed of hearing these words from you but not like this. We shouldn’t.” Her sigh is almost pained. “I can’t.”

I’m so torn. I want to fight her more on this, but I also want to respect her decision. What I say is, “I can be whatever you need me to be.”

Sighing again, she turns her face toward me, propping it on her hands, and says, “I need you to be my friend, Anders Olsson.” I can’t read her expression and I hope to God she can’t read the sadness in mine.

The tiniest laugh escapes her as she stands up and rolls her head toward the ceiling. “I can’t believe those words are coming out of my mouth.”

I don’t want to believe them, but I have to take her word for it.

I stick my hand out for her to shake. Because, you know, that’s what friends do. “Friends?” I ask.

Her hand hesitantly slides into mine, what looks like regret flashing across her face.

“Friends,” she agrees with a shake.

“Hey, Baby Bardot. Your mom asked me to help you unload the groceries.”

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