Page 83 of No Place Like You

Nat giggles. “Hayden’s so cute.”

“Come on,” Carmen calls. “We should get downstairs before your future husband starts listing all the fruits that are actually vegetables.”

36

Dexter

I’m not toofond of adjustment periods. Those moments that feel unsure and even a little embarrassing. And you never know how long they’re going to last. Like adjusting to a new job or a different commute than the one you usually take because of road closures or to avoid an ex after a bad breakup.

Adjusting to this, pretending like there’s nothing going on between me and Lucy, acting as if I don’t know how smooth her skin feels under my fingertips or what her laugh sounds like muffled against my chest. It takes everything in me to keep my distance instead of gravitating toward her, taking up room in her personal space, and asking her how she liked the lobster bisque. It’s…an adjustment period.

“I was thinking snorkeling?” Hayden pipes in, his hand loosely draped over Nat’s shoulders.

“Or kayaking?” Nat adds.

There’s a collective set of nods surrounding the bride and groom that includes me, Lucy, Carmen and her boyfriend David, Nat’s parents, andHayden’s mom. Nat’s mom, looking like she contributed absolutely nothing in the genetic pool that consists of Nat and her sisters, leans toward Hayden’s mom in hushed tones of whispers and secret smiles. Mr. Marquez—or as I’ve been calling him, sir—hovers over his wife with eyes that look exactly like Lucy’s, dark and inquisitive, and chuckles every so often, his way of contributing to the conversation.

Hayden and Nat continue their discussion, mulling over whether or not Nat’s fear of heights will interfere with ziplining or if we have enough time to fit in an ATV tour after the wedding rehearsal on Saturday.

A light gasp pulls me away from my own telepathic memo to them that yes, a fear of heights will definitely interfere with a day of ziplining. (Who are they kidding?)

“They have a mint and chip milkshake.”

Did I conjure a mental image of me shaking a magic eight ball, whispering, “Will I sit next to Lucy at dinner?” before we sat down? I might have. I also may have waited a few beats to see where she would sit and brusquely nudged a passing waiter with my shoulder to force the question to be answered with an affirmative, “All signs point to yes.” And now, watching the way her eyes twinkle against the low candlelight on the clothed tables and her finger pokes at the thick paper menu where the dessert list does, in fact, have a variety of milkshake flavors, I don’t even care what crystal ball or wishing well allowed for this to happen. All I care about is that I’m sitting next to her.

“Well, look at that.” She giggles, and I turn to angle my body in her direction. “You wanna go halfsies?”

She mirrors my posture, scooting toward me with her shoulders slouched forward and an intrigued look of adventure. “Can we do that?”

I smirk. “Like there’s a police for that.” I drape my arm over the back of her chair. “I’ll even ask for two straws.”

There’s talking and laughter and even the light clink of silverware against ceramic plates, but it’s all white noise. Lucy’s discreet voice and cautious laughter is all I hear.

Her eyes round when my thumb brushes against the bare skin between her shoulder blades, where no one can see my hand. I add my index finger, and those light strokes feel like a match against the sandpapered side of the matchbox, hot and full of buzzing electricity.

Her back stiffens, and a light flush creeps up her neck to her cheeks.

“Don’t,” she whispers. There’s disappointment in the one-word sentence. Along with a mix of sadness and, somewhere between the single syllable, intimacy.

A ball rolls down my throat, right where her eyes linger, and a closed-lipped sigh exhales through her nose.

“Sorry,” I whisper.

I say it like I’m not sorry at all. Like I only said it because I got caught doing something I wasn’t supposed to, like taking an extra Halloween candy when the sign clearly says Please Take One. I drop my hand from the back of her chair and rest it on the table instead, where it feels empty.

Our knees brush, and our bare arms graze. And I feel the rounded tip of her platform sandals tap against my sneakers. When I clench my hand into a fist, I know it looks like I’m angry. Or at the very least, experiencing some level of discomfort that aligns with irritation.

I fuckinghatethis. Having her sit next to me while everyone around us is all coupled up, touching and kissing each other whenever they please. It shouldn’t be like this.

“Can I see you later?”

I see her hesitate, her eyes catching the way my knuckles turn white and my forearm flexes. “I can’t. Nat’s going to wonder where I am.”

I sigh through a frustrated pout. “You can’t tell her you, I don’t know, went to check out the hotel gift shop?”

“In the middle of the night?”

“Or you were curious about the armadillo population out in the wild?”

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