Page 9 of Wish You Would

“I did not, you big goof. I remembered. Did you forget we used to hang out last year?”

“We’ve met before?” I tease, walking past her to the sink to pour myself a glass of water.

She laughs. “Don’t pretend like you haven’t missed me while I was gone.”

After downing the water, I start to fill the sink with hot water so I can tackle this mess.

“What are you doing?” I feel her small hands on my shoulders, gently pushing me away from the sink. “I’ve got it. This will take me five minutes to clean later. Go sit down.”

Five minutes?I look around the disaster zone. Is shekidding? With the state that my kitchen is in, this will take her five hours. I must side-eye her without realizing it, because she crosses her arms over her chest and shoots me a look. "The breakfast will be worth it. Now, can I pour you a cup of coffee?”

“I can get it myself, Busy Bee.”

Her head tilts to the side. “Holden, would you just sit down and let me handle this? Or is that difficult for you? You know, when other people want to do things for you? It kills you to give up control, doesn’t it?”

“No.”

“Yes, it does.”

“No, it doesn’t. And why are we arguing over this?”

“Don’t worry, I’m just giving you a hard time.” She hands me a cup of coffee and points me in the direction of my table. I sit reluctantly and take a sip of the brew, watching as she moves around the kitchen with ease. It’s as if she’s lived here all her life. I would have thought she’d feel out of place, uncomfortable even, given the fact that she’s been here for less than 24 hours. But she’s just… graceful. I should probably hate that she’s here, in my space, making a mess of things. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t love seeing my house in this state—I swear I can feel my right eye twitching—but I’m not angry.

But itisgoing to take some getting used to, living with someone again. Especially someone like Briar. I like my privacy. And fuck, I need to figure out how I’m going to live with her when she’s dressed like that. Maybe I should ask her to wear a sweater and sweatpants—extra baggy ones—when she’s lounging around the house.

“I took a chance that maybe you’d eat breakfast,” she says as I watch her slide the bacon from the pan onto a platelined with paper towel. “Do you always go into the office this early?” she asks over her shoulder. She pours pancake batter into yet another pan on the stove then sets the bowl on the counter. A trickle of the pale-yellow batter drips over the edge, pooling on the counter.

“No, it’s a busy week at work. I have a presentation tomorrow with a new client we’ve been trying to land.”

“Ah, you need to be on your game. I’m sure you will be if you’re as thorough at your job as you are at keeping your house tidy.”

When I don’t respond, Briar turns to face me, and I’m sure she catches the look of annoyance on my face.

“I’m not judging you, Holden. Just stating the facts. You’re a neat freak.”

“Andyouare not.”

Briar slides a heaping plate of pancakes, bacon and strawberries across the table to me and smiles.

“Wow, thanks,” I tell her, looking down at my plate. The pancakes look perfect—shockingly so, considering the state of everything else. I’m being a dick. Sure, the place is a mess, but she got up early and cooked me breakfast. A delicious-looking breakfast.

“Where did you find strawberries?” I know she didn’t find them in my fridge.

“I ordered a few things last night and had them delivered.” She brings her plate to the table and sits down next to me. I watch her dip a strawberry into the whip cream on her plate then slide the berry between her lips. She really has the most perfect mouth.

“Yeah, I was going to go grocery shopping tonight. My fridge is pretty dismal,” I admit, picking up my fork. “I’ll pay you for whatever you bought today. Just let me know how much it is.”

She nods, but the expression on her face tells me she isn’t taking me seriously. Does this woman take anything seriously? She always seems so easygoing. Calm. Laid back. And so incredibly beautiful, it’s making me oddly annoyed.

How is this ever going to work? How am I going to live with Briar for the next 60 or so days when she looks like that? Legs that rival any runway model’s, soft curves and a mouth I’m already dying to kiss. That definitely won’t be happening. Briar is Daisy’s best friend, and I would never risk my friendship with Daisy. We’ve become close, bonding overGilmore Girlsmarathons and giving Tucker the gears. Besides, a relationship and everything that goes along with it is not in the cards for me right now.

“Thank you for the tea last night.” Briar looks at me over the rim of her mug, the tea bag still steeping in it. “I thought you said you didn’t have any. ‘Water-flavored nothing, right?’”

I laugh. “I stand by that. I didn’t have any.”

“Then —"

“I went next door. I was pretty sure Everly would have some, and she did. It isn’t a big deal so don’t go making one out of it.”

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