Page 82 of Just Like Home

She suddenly felt vulnerable, like she’d said too much. She wasn’t hiding it, the fact that there was a whole long list of things she’d never done—but she didn’t want to go around publicizing it either.

And she especially didn’t want to talk about it with Cole. As if she needed another reason to feel foolish in his presence.

And as soon as he realized that never having dated meant a lot of other things she’d never done, she was going to feel even more ridiculous than she did right now.

She stood abruptly, piled her silverware onto her plate and her plate onto his, then walked into the kitchen. “That was really good,” she called over her shoulder. “Like, one of the best meals I’ve had in a really long time.”

She turned and found he’d followed her and now she was hollering for nothing.

“Sorry,” she said.

He stood in the doorway, backlit by the light from the dining area. He was deliciously handsome. How she could think that of someone she truly disliked was one of life’s great injustices. She shouldn’t find him appealing for the sole reason that he wasn’t a nice person.

In her mind, she saw him pick up Asher’s little brother and prop him up on his shoulder for a victory lap after his remarkable touchdown.

Fine, maybe he was nice. But he wasn’t nice to her.

She looked down at the plates. Making her dinner had been pretty nice. The thought kicked her nerves up like dust from a shaken blanket.

“I should probably get cleaned up and get to bed. I have an early run,” she said.

“Let me help.” He brushed past her as he walked toward the stove. “I made the mess.”

“I think the rule is that if you cook, you don’t have to clean.” She opened the dishwasher and began rinsing off the plates. His nearness sent her insides swirling, like she was riding circles on a merry-go-round.

He handed her the pan he’d used to cook and looked at her like he had something to say.

I like you, Charlotte.

Maybe I could be your first date, Charlotte?

I really want to kiss you, Charlotte.

The possibilities raced through her mind, betraying her sense of logic. This was so silly. This man who liked nobody did not like her. And she did not like him.

You do not like him, Charlotte.

Her mind spun with questions.

If he didn’t like her, then why had he shown up on her doorstep? Why had he acted so nervous outside? Why had he made her dinner and why was he standing only inches away from her now?

“Charlotte?”

She looked up and found his dark eyes fixed on her. “Yes?” She wasn’t sure if she’d said the word aloud or simply thought it.

“I need to ask you something,” he said.

And her stomach flip-flopped the way she imagined teenage girls’ stomachs did when the boy they liked asked them to the prom.

Whatever it was, she would say yes. She’d regret it later, but she’d say yes. Because there was no way in this room, looking at those eyes, she could ever deny this man anything he asked.

And knowing that made her equal parts excited and terrified.

Because changing the way she thought about this high school football coach seemed like a very, very bad idea.

24

What was he doing? He should’ve come in, asked Charlotte the question, and left. Instead, he made her dinner (dinner, for Pete’s sake, who was he, Gordon Ramsay?) and was now standing in Lucy’s kitchen trying to work up the nerve to ask Charlotte this ridiculous favor.

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