Page 49 of Most Likely to Fear Love

His words flowed over me like a warm breeze

“Oh.” I stared at him, my fork still suspended mid-air. I just didn’t know how to process his calm, matter of fact acceptance.

He raised an eyebrow. “Eggs are getting cold.”

That small hint of humor, the gentleness behind his words, eased some of the tension in my chest. I set my fork down and reached for the juice instead, taking a slow sip as I tried to process what he’d said.

“Okay. Thank you, Harle.”

“You’re welcome.” He returned his focus to his plate, eating like it was the simplest thing in the world, like I wasn’t still a giant ball of nerves sitting across from him.

And somehow, that made it easier to keep eating, too.

CASSIDY

Idropped my purse on the kitchen counter with a heavy sigh, the dull thud breaking the stillness of the house. My heels hit the floor with a soft clatter as I kicked them off, and I made my way to the fridge.

The light spilled out when I opened it, highlighting the sad, predictable contents. Yogurt, a few leftovers, half a carton of eggs. I stared blankly, waiting for something to jump out and screameat me. Nothing did.

I let the door fall shut and leaned against it, crossing my arms as my thoughts wandered down the now-familiar path.

Harle.

My heart hitched at the thought of him, the way his voice had been so calm, so steady when he told me not to tie myself in knots. He hadn’t called or texted since he’d dropped me off a few days ago. Part of me was grateful. After all, what would I even say?

But another part of me, the traitorous, hopeful part, kept wondering if he was thinking about me too. Wondering if I should reach out.

No. That would be insane.

The memory of that night still burned, a slow, smoldering embarrassment I couldn’t shake. I couldn’t face him. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

My feet carried me to the pantry, as if a snack would fill the hollow ache inside me. Crackers, chips, soup cans. It all blurred together, unappealing.

The sharp buzz of my phone startled me, the vibration rattling against the table. My heart jolted as I glanced at my smartwatch. Harle’s name popped up, and for a second, I forgot how to breathe.

I grabbed my phone, my pulse thudding in my ears.

Harle:Hey, I’m in the area and happen to have a spare burger and fries. If you’re home, I’d like to come by.

My breath caught in my throat. My fingers hovered over the screen, shaky and indecisive, before I managed to type back.

Me:I’m home.

I hit send and stared at the little ellipsis dancing on the screen, my nerves climbing higher with each passing second.

Harle:Great. See you in about seven minutes.

Seven minutes. That wasn’t enough time to completely unravel, but I was sure gonna give it my best shot.

Leaping from the chair, I grabbed my shoes from the floor and scanned the kitchen with a critical eye. Counters were mostly clear. The table was fine, except for my abandoned purse. I snatched it up and dropped it on a chair before darting toward my room.

Clothes were strewn across the bed, the aftermath of my morning rush, but I ignored them.You don’t always have to be on your A game, you know.Instead, I zeroed in on my reflection in the closet mirror. My shirt was fine but wrinkled, and my suit pants had definitely seen better days.

I yanked off the shirt, throwing it into the corner, and rifled through my wardrobe until I found a simple tank top andcardigan, plus a pair of fitted jeans that screamedcasual, but I totally didn’t try too hard.Sliding them on, I gave myself a quick once-over.

It was fine. I was fine. This was just Harle.

But as I caught my reflection again, I paused. Tugging at the hem of the cardigan, I tilted my head, studying myself. Why did I care what I looked like?

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