Page 53 of Well, Actually
“Skim milk?”Cooper growls as he leans across the table. “Why the hell would you order me skim milk?”
“You made such a fuss about the oat milk!”
“So a tall glass of skim was the obvious solution?”
“I can’t win with you.” I shake my head, eyes fixed on my menu as I try to hide just how much fun I’m having. Cooper catches it.
“You might be the most conniving woman I’ve ever met.”
“Thank you.” I blow him a kiss. “Maybe you have more game than I’ve given you credit for.”
“That wasn’t a compliment,” he murmurs. “You terrify me.”
My heart does a little flip as if he just told me I’m the most beautiful girl in the world, but I keep my face neutral.
“What’ll you have?” the waitress asks, rematerializing at the edge of our table.
“Stack of pancakes,” Cooper says with a smile, tilting his menu toward her. “To complement the milk.”
There’s a substantial delay in how long it takes her to check her reaction. “And you?” she says, eyeing me.
“The same,” I say with a resigned sigh. “Hold the glass ofskim, please.” She walks off with a pained expression and I make a mental note to tip her double.
“You’re something else,” Cooper says, voice low. I glance at him, expecting to see sharpness in his face—annoyance, resignation, disdain, something similar to all the other people I’ve pushed just a step too far—but he’s looking at me with a dopey expression. Almost thunderstruck.
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
Cooper’s face remains serene. “Tell me what you think it means.”
“You aren’t nearly as hot as Roberta. I’m not about to spill my guts to you.” I tear my napkin into tiny pieces as he continues to stare at me.
Cooper rolls his eyes, but it somehow feels tender and intimate. “Can I tell you what I want you to think it means?”
“If I say no, will you stop talking?”
“Probably not.”
I wave him on.
“In the six years since I’ve met you,” he says, placing his hands on the table, only an inch from mine, “I’ve never met someone quite like you.”
“Careful. You’re tiptoeing very close to ‘not like other girls’ territory,” I deadpan, moving my hands a millimeter back while they vibrate with the desire to move closer to his. “But, yeah, I am exceptionally witty and brilliant.” The deprecation is a habit of self-preservation. I can’t let him inflate me with false things when I know everyone opens the plug and lets out the air in the end.
His smile is indulgent, eyes fixed on my hands. “And noone has ever challenged me like you do,” he says, inching closer until the tips of his fingers barely touch mine. In a slow, steady movement like I’m a feral cat he’s trying to coax out from the trash, he rotates his wrists until his palms face up.
“I mean… congrats on being a white man in America,” I say, horrified to see myself broaching the minimal space between us, an electric hum moving through me as I lay my hands in his. What ishappening?
It’s because of the therapy. I feel too cracked open. Too raw. A fragile, pathetic creature that needs to be cuddled. My hands twitch as I try to will them back to my lap, but it’s like invisible strings are binding us together,
“Can I ask you something?” His thumb traces the edge of my pinky.
I huff, but it sounds soft when I was aiming for snotty. “If you must.”
“If… God, this feels so silly…” A blush creeps up his neck, across his cheeks. His glasses slip a notch, but he doesn’t let go of my hands to fix them.
“That’s never stopped you before,” I say, leg bouncing so hard his glass of milk ripples. Cooper’s eyes finally meet mine, and my heart gives a painful squeeze.
A look I can’t read flits across his face, his jaw tightening and a muscle ticking in his cheek. “If I hadn’t screwed up that night like I did, do you think—” He clears his throat. “Do you think we might have ended up together?”
