Page 62 of #Awestruck

“Last month she asked me if there were any ‘hot singles’ at my gym. I figured if she went there again, I’d tell her the only hot singles in my life are made by Kraft and go on bread.”

Hearing my mother use a phrase like “hot singles” would be a permanent mood killer. Having been there myself, I felt bad for Rory.

I heard Evan saying my name, and he placed his hand on my knee. Which made me buck my legs straight up, ramming my knees into the edge of the table. Hard.

Glasses wobbled, silverware rattled. Everyone stared.

“Sorry,” I mumbled.

I didn’t need to worry about my family embarrassing me. I was doing an excellent job of it all by myself.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Thanksgiving ended up going much more smoothly after that incident. There was the slight issue of me being left-handed, and I kept bumping into Evan while I ate, but even that I got accustomed to.

After everyone had their fill, we all sat around the table and talked. Whatever initial awkwardness had existed when Evan first arrived seemed to disappear. He chatted and joked with my family like he’d been a part of it for years.

He fit like he was a jigsaw piece sliding into the right spot.

And I didn’t know how to cope with that.

Then he took off his sweater, which was understandable as the room was getting a little warm. I’d assumed it was Evan causing all the sweltering heat, and it surprised me that he was feeling it, too.

He looked so nice in his shirt that I played with the leftover food on my plate so I wouldn’t stare.

My mom announced it was time for dessert, and I volunteered to help her out. Avoidance seemed to be my drug of choice lately. Evan was sitting next to me all handsome and funny, and now that we’d kissed, I found myself reliving it at inopportune times. And it was still difficult to reconcile all of that attraction with my fears about him and a possible relationship between us.

The different kinds of pies—pumpkin, pecan, chocolate silk, and apple—were already sitting on a sideboard in the dining room. I helped my mother with the whipped cream and gathering up all the stuff that Evan had brought over with him. We set his ice cream sundae ingredients next to the pies.

“Do you know what this is missing?” my mom asked.

“Medication for type 2 diabetes?”

“No. We have some maraschino cherries on the top shelf of the cabinet next to the stove. Can you grab them for me?”

“Sure.”

I found the cabinet and reached up on tiptoe to see the contents of the shelf.

“Do you need a hand?”

Evan’s voice behind me scared me so much that I jumped and yelped. “Don’t sneak up on me like that!”

“I’m sorry. But I can reach that top shelf for you.”

“So can I,” I said, reminding him that I wasn’t the kind of woman who needed a stepladder in the kitchen. I couldn’t see the cherries, but I felt around for the jar and found it. Triumph. “Aha!”

“Isn’t there anything manly I can do to impress you? Vanquish a spider? Take the trash to the curb? Mow the lawn?”

I tried to twist open the top of the jar, but it wasn’t budging. “I can do all those things, too, thanks.” What I couldn’t do was get the cherries open. In the past when I’d had a stubborn jar, I’d just smack the side of the lid against a countertop corner, but I wasn’t allowed to do that anymore since my mom had the kitchen remodeled.

“Now do you need some help?” I could see he was trying very hard not to smile.

“I’m only doing this for the sake of your delicate male ego,” I said, handing it over to him.

He twisted the lid but came up against the same issue I’d been having. He bore down, really putting some of his strength into it.

“And I even loosened it for you.” I had to bite my lip so I wouldn’t laugh. I was also enjoying the sight of his muscles straining against the fabric of his shirt.

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