Page 64 of What I Like About You

The song ends and I’m out of breath.

I step backward, so ready to launch into Lafayette’s part in “The Story of Tonight—Reprise”… that my right foot lands in the container of primer.

I look down at my primed foot. “Well.”

Nash chews on his lower lip. “This is going well.”

“We could do this professionally.”

Nash laughs. “Totally. Kim and Levitt Painting. Don’t worry, we’ll realize what primer is for eventually—”

“—and definitely step in it.”

“We also rap, and not just the furniture!”

Tears are streaming down my face and I don’t even know why because this is easily Nash’s worst pun yet. “We’ll charge extra for the rapping.”

Nash considers this. “I’ll add ‘rapping not included’ to the fine print.”

“Perfect. I see no flaws in this business plan. But I … need help,” I sputter through my laughter. I am ankle deep in the thick white primer, which might as well be Super Glue.

“You’re a mess, Upstate,” Nash says.

And suddenly, Nash is, like,right here—his face is inches away from mine as he stands up and holds out his hands to helpunstick me. He’s so close I see the gold flecks in his eyes. Those eyes are the reason that avoiding Nash indefinitely will never work.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

He shrugs. “You confuse me, Upstate.”

“I confuse me too.”

“I never know what you’re thinking. For all I know, I’ll get the cold shoulder at school tomorrow.”

I chew the inside of my cheek and shake my headno.

“It’s either cold shoulder or this. It can’t be both.”

“I like this,” I admit.

It’s as close to sayingI like youas I’ll ever get. If I were the right combination of brave and stupid, I’d tell him the truth.

Instead, I swipe my paint roller across his right cheek.

Nash gapes at me. Did I go too far?

He picks up a brush and flicks it so paint splatters all over my shirt. It’s so on. I dip my hands in the fresh lavender and press them against Nash’s chest, leaving handprints on his shirt.

The wildest part of all of this is that I am the one who is stuck in a container of primer. Nash can run away whenever he wants. But he doesn’t move. It’s like a challenge almost: What will Halle do next? How far will she go?

This isn’t a text message. I can’t change the subject. And for the first time I don’twantto.

Nash paints my nose lavender, grinning.

Then the door swings open and Nash jumps back two steps.

“Am I interrupting something?”

Gramps’s voice jolts me out of the moment. He’s smirking in the doorframe, Scout tucked under his arm.

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