Page 43 of Once Smitten, Twice Shy

“From where I’m standing, at least,” I tell him quietly, eyes down on the water. “We don’thaveto do anything; some people just have that spark, that chemistry—it just…”

Slowly, Will walks toward me, setting the bowls on the counter. “It justis,” he says.

I stare up at him. “So you…do you feel it, too? If I’m reading this wrong, tell me, and I’ll drop it for good, I swear—”

“Juliet.” An empty laugh, a huff of air, gusts out of him. “Of course I feel it. I’ve felt it since the first moment I saw you.”

Heat rushes through me. I curl my hands around the edge of the sink. “Me, too.”

He takes a step closer, his hand sliding along the counter. “I am wildly attracted to you.”

“I, um…” I list toward him as he reaches past me and turns off the water, which was about to flood the sink. “I am very, very attracted to you, too.”

“I know,” he says quietly.

I narrow my eyes up at him. “Very sure of ourselves, are we?”

His gaze holds mine. “When talking doesn’t come easily with women, you learn to read other signs. Physical signs. That’s all.”

I sigh miserably, rubbing a hand over my forehead. “What do we do?”

“Well,” he says quietly, his gaze on my mouth. “There’s what Ithinkwe should do. Then there’s what Iwantus to do.”

My heart’s flying as I peer back up at him. “Care to elaborate?” My voice comes out breathy and faint.

He hesitates for a beat, then says, “I think we should keep our hands to ourselves. And our mouths.” He swallows thickly. “But I really don’twantto do that.”

I nod, then shake my head, a bundle of raw nerves and aching want. “Me, neither.”

His hand comes to my face and cups it. “Our plan is to help each other,” he says quietly, his thumb grazing my cheek. “I don’t want to do anything to jeopardize that.”

My eyes fall shut at the pleasure of his touch, the weight of his words. He’s right, I know he is. “I don’t, either.”

“We haven’t talked about it, though, if this is something youneed,” he says quietly. “Practicing this way, too. We can. If you want that.”

I shake my head. For me, getting emotionally comfortable and at ease in romance again will lead right into comfort and ease with romantic physical intimacy. But as I stare at him, I’m realizing, even if Ididwant to directly practice the physical aspect, I wouldn’t want practice to be the reason for his touch. I would want it to happen because he wanted me and I wanted him and nothing else. And that is exactly what I can’t admit or act on, because it would jeopardize all of this, lead me down the path I’ve told myself I will not go.

Finally, I whisper, “I don’t want to practice this way, no.”

It’s quiet for a beat, and I keep my eyes shut, let myself draw out this moment in which Will is close, touching me tenderly, the fact of our desire heavy in the air between us.

His hand slips gently from my face. “Then let’s do some dishes.”

—

There’s a lot to be said for a guy who knows how to clean up from a party, and Will is one of them. Another green flag added to the tally.

We’ve worked in quiet for the past half hour, which, given we just admitted our mutual attraction to each other and established a clear boundary that it’s not going to be a part of our romance practice, is pretty comfortable. After I turn on the dishwasher, I glance up and watch Will as he finishes wiping down the table with one last spritz of cleaner and two swift circles of the cloth in his hand.

“Thanks,” I tell him, readjusting the claw clip I put in my hair when I started the dishes. “For helping with all this. It made a big difference.”

He peers up, his mouth lifting at the corner. “Of course.”

I smile. “I’m glad you had fun at game night. Spider trauma aside.”

“Spider trauma aside, it was a good time.” He gathers up the rag in one hand, spray cleaner in the other, and walks back my way, into the kitchen. “You were right. Your friends are weird. In the best way.”

“Yeah.” I take the rag from him and drape it over the sink’s edge. “They’re great.”

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