Page 18 of Back To You

“It’s the best one,” she replies. “Plus, we haven’t watched any of them since last month, so it’s about time for a rewatch. Might as well start at the beginning.”

“Of course,” I agree, knowing that these movies mean something to Annie, Drew, and Mia that I will never understand but can appreciate.

Annie nods before she changes the subject. “So, back to the topic ofground rules.”

I rest my forearms on the bar, leaning forward but not too close. “Rule number one: make your bed when you wake up, you slob.”

She sits back in her chair. “No. It’s a waste of time. You just mess it up again when you get back in at night.”

I shake my head, partly in disbelief that someone as smart as her thinks with that logic but also because I don’t know a single topic of conversation between us that Anniewouldn’tturn into an argument.

“Rule number two,” I continue, saving us from at least one argument tonight, “we keep each other updated on whether we’ll be home or not.” I want to add that we’ll also tell each other where we are, but I don’t want to push my luck.

“Sounds like stalker behavior to me,” she replies, taking another sip of her drink.

“It’s common courtesy,roomie,” I correct. “It takes two seconds to send a text that says you’re leaving or that you’re on your way back.” I resist the urge to add that it also ensures I know she is safe.

“Fine, I can feed into your stalker tendencies for a month,” Annie concedes, placing an elbow on the barand resting her chin on her hand. “But I have some rules of my own.”

“I’m all ears, honey,” I quip, the endearment falling so effortlessly off my lips, my sour mood from before she got here making me brave. There’s nothing she can say to me that can make me feel shittier than how I felt after the phone call with my father.

“Don’t call me that,” she bites back, and I can’t help but feel even braver.

“But you’re just so sweet,” I say, giving her a wink. She doesn’t realize that the more she pushes me away, the sweeter it’ll be when she finally gives in to me.

She rolls her eyes and tucks her hair behind her ears, and I can see the smallest tinge of pink on the tops of her ears.

Her voice takes a more serious tone. “I’m not home much for meals during the week while working at the shelter until my rotations start next month, so we can just plan to fend for ourselves. I’ll do my own grocery shopping, and I’ll clean up after myself in the kitchen. The bathroom and living room too.”

I can almost feel the force she’s using to push me away, always making sure she can keep people at arm’s length. “We are just coexisting in the same space. Again, I appreciate you letting me stay with you, but let’s not pretend it’ll be more than that,” she adds.

There’s a hint of vulnerability in her voice, like she’s not only reminding me of the wall she put between us, but herself too.

“And here I was thinking we would have candle-lit dinners together every night,” I tease, hoping it comes off as a joke rather than the wishful thinking it is.

In reality, a sense of disappointment washes over me as I realize that this plan of using the month to get closerto Annie is going to be even harder than I thought it would be—and I didn’t think it was going to be remotely easy in the first place.

“You wish, bartender,” she replies, taking advantage of how I’m leaning on the bar in front of her, bringing her palm to my cheek to pat it twice before finishing the last few sips of her drink.

I shake my head, not missing how she pats Rosie just like that.

“Emmett’s hired three more bartenders with me leaving at the end of summer and the baby on the way. Two of them are coming from different bars, but one will need training, so I’ll be here most nights for the next few weeks, especially if the baby comes when it's supposed to.” I push off the bar, standing to my full height and grabbing her glass to make her a fresh drink. “We’ll be on opposite schedules, so no candle-lit dinners even if I wanted to.”

Something passes over Annie’s face, but it’s gone before I can realize what it is. She shrugs her shoulders. “Fine by me,” she responds, but the nonchalance feels forced.

We don’t say anything until I set her new drink down in front of her, and I can tell by the way she watches the ice as she stirs her drink with the straw that she’s thinking about how we can sit and make rules for this arrangement of ours, but there’s no way of knowing how it’sactuallygoing to go.

And if she’s thinking the same thing as me, it’s how she can try to avoid me all she wants, but it doesn’t change the fact that we are living under the same roof.

It won't just be coexisting.

Not if I can help it.

I have a month to make her love me again.

And if I can’t do it, at least I’ll be strides closer than I was before.

Because I’m never giving up.

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