Page 35 of From Air

“Nothing.” He rubs his hand over his mouth as if he can wipe the smile from his scruffy face.

I stand and mosey toward the sink with my mug. “That look isn’t nothing.”

“I didn’t know your hobbies, except for skateboarding.” He turns, resting his backside against the counter, hands on either side.

“Well, unlike me, you’re not that inquisitive.” I wash out the mug.

“Not true. I read two to three books a week.”

“Then you don’t care enough about people to ask about them.” I dry my mug and lift onto my toes to put it back in the cabinet. “Maybe you only like fictional people.”

“Not true.”

I laugh. “You’re killing me, Fitz. If that’s not true, the only explanation is that you don’t likemeenough to ask me about myself. My family. My hobbies.” I tuck my fingers in the back pockets of my jeans and position myself a foot from him. “When Maren and Will speak unfavorably of you, I defend you. I’ve never visited them at work with cookies. I don’t bake their favorite brownies. I haven’t accompanied them to any parties. I’m your person, but you’re not mine. And that’s okay.”

Tiny wrinkles line his forehead.

I force a smile for him because I don’t want to make him feel bad. “Maren and Will are nice to—”

My words die, trapping my next breath in my chest because Fitz’s hand slides behind my head, and he kisses me. All thoughts dissolve into a mushy mess. Thinking isn’t an option. All I can do is feel. And I love the feel of his hand cradling my head and his lips moving againstmine.Thisis a real kiss. It’s not hard like the first time he kissed me. It’s slower and deeper. I feel it everywhere.

Why? What? How? The questions fire in every direction, but they spin out of control, unanswered. I’m terrified of what comes next.

“I’m not drunk,” I murmur when he releases my lips.

That’s not entirely true. My blood alcohol level is under the legal limit, but I’m intoxicated. Drunk from that kiss.

“You’re generous. Distractingly mesmerizing. Quirky in a brilliant way. And ineffably beautiful.” Keeping his hand on the back of my head, he deposits one last kiss on my cheek, letting his lips linger until we hear a car door shut.

Maren.

He’s halfway up the stairs before I can breathe or formulate a thought with a prayer of materializing as actual words. When Maren opens the front door, I touch my fingers to my lips.

“Worst. Date. Ever.” She tosses her burnt orange tote bag onto the sofa before collapsing beside it and tugging at her black knit scarf like it’s strangling her.

I clear my throat, but it does little to clear my head. And my knees are embarrassingly shaky, just like my voice. “Um ... w-what happened?” There’s no way I’m not at least ten shades of red in the face, so I busy myself in the kitchen, making my lunch for tomorrow.

“He took me to the restaurant where his ex-girlfriend is the chef. And she comes out to see if we’re enjoying our dinner. Then, he goes on and on about me being a pilot, and when she seems unimpressed, he ignores me for the rest of dinner. So before dessert was served, I excused myself to use the ladies’ room and left.”

“Uh-huh.” I store my salad for tomorrow in the fridge.

“Jamie, did you hear a word I said?”

“Um ... yeah, of course. That’s a bummer. Sorry to hear it didn’t go well.” I rest my hip against the counter and cross my arms.

Maren studies me for a second. “Thanks. You okay?”

“Me?” My head jerks backward. “Yeah. Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You’re acting weird.”

“I’m just ...” I shrug. “It was a long day. I’m tired. I probably should have stuck to half a glass of wine instead of a full glass.” I lie, faking a yawn. “I’ll grab a quick shower and head to bed unless you need in the bathroom first.”

“It’s all yours.” She snags the remote. “I’m going to sulk for a bit. Maybe watch a love story, since I think they only exist in movies and books.”

“Ha! Probably.” I slide on my black boots and slip out the back door, pausing for a second. Then I grin and press my fingers to my lips all the way to the shed. On autopilot, I collect my clothes and return to the house. Maren’s watchingWhat’s Your Number?and Fitz’s bedroom door is shut when I reach the top of the stairs. While I shower, I wonder if he’s asleep. Is he thinking of me and that kiss? Is he touching his lips the way I touched mine? Is he touching himself differently?

Are we going to get kicked out of the house?

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