Page 71 of Love is an Open Book
“We can always revisit physical compatibility.” His eyes drop to my lips, and the next time he speaks, his voice is rough. “If you want.”
“Might have to, in the interest of thoroughness.”
The waiter sets my coffee down, and I lean back, realizing the table has been cutting into my ribs with how far I’d leaned across in order to get closer to Gavin. The restaurant is nearly empty, midday, and we’rethatcouple.
Holy crap, did I just call us a couple?
I take a scalding slurp of coffee and let the burn chase away the butterflies. “I’m worried we’re rushing into this.”
“We’ve known each other since college, Mia.”
My hands are shaky, and I don’t understand how he’s so calmabout all this. “Don’t you think we should consider the ramifications of taking this step?”
He sits back, head cocked. “You mean, what happens if I decide to take over for Dad?”
Caught up in the whirlwind of the past few days, I’d managed to banish thoughts of him leaving, but they come roaring back with a vengeance. Contemplating a relationship when we don’t even know what our friendship will look like in six months seems like madness.
But if we were together, Gavin moving would almost be easier than if we were friends. No need to make up excuses to visit each other, or worry about overstaying our welcome... And somehow I’ve invented a reality where dating Gavin makes sense, is plausible, even. Could it be that after all these years, dating would be easier?
But that possibility doesn’t take into account the potential of a breakup and all the messy hurt feelings that go along with it.
“Trying this out is one thing. But what happens if it ends?” It’s embarrassing how easy it is to remember the shame of telling my sister’s now-husband that I had feelings for him. Gavin and I are at the beginning, yet already my heart breaks at the thought of him trading me in for someone he loves more. Am I so afraid of heartbreak that I’m scared to let myself love?
“I can’t promise it will work, and I know you don’t expect me to.” Gavin’s voice is rough, but this time it’s gruff with emotion. “But if things don’t work out between us, there is no world where I would stop being in your life. Not unless you didn’t want me in it. There is nothing that could happen between us where I wouldn’t want to complain about relief pitchers with you or vent about Morris’s latest antics. I think it’s pretty clear that I want more. But I will never settle for less, not for as long as you want my friendship.”
“Always.” A lot is uncertain right now. Whether I’ll finishthis book in time, what’s next for my career, what my relationship with Gavin will look like in the future. But one thing I know is I want him in my life. “I’m just worried we’re rushing things.” I keep thinking of the scene that hijacked my plot last night: Sydney and Victor’s friends and family asking them questions they weren’t prepared to answer.
“This isn’t a book, Mia,” he says. “We don’t have to worry about the right pacing. We can just do what feels right for us. There are no rules.”
I like rules, though. Organized outlines and scene progressions. But one thing I’ve learned from writing romance is that happiness is never achieved without taking risks and going for what you want. And what I want is a real date with Gavin.
Hands wrapped around the coffee mug, I ask, “What would you do if you were here on a date?”
“I never bring dates here. This is our spot,” he says, eyes never leaving mine. “But if this were a real date, with you, I’d want to get closer.”
I want that, too, the ache to be near him surprising only in that it’s not all that unexpected. I’m used to wanting him close, even if craving his touch is new. But it feels right. It feels good, to want him this way.
Before I can second-guess the urge, I scoot over to make room. He grins and stands up, then slides in next to me.
“Is this okay?” He grazes a finger over my knuckles.
“Mmm-hmm.” I feel like I can’t see him, though, so I make use of what little space I have and shift to face him, pulling my leg up on the booth, wedging myself between the table and the wall and Gavin. My shin is pressed along his thigh. It’s familiar and comfortable but somehow brand-new. “Different.”
“But good?” He lays his arm along the top of the booth, fingertips brushing my shoulder.
“Very good.”
“I know you’re worried about how all this will work,” he says, sweeping his thumb along my collarbone. “I get that things are different. But, Mia, I like you so much.”
He leans in and presses a kiss to my lips, like he can’t help himself. And neither can I. I wrap my fingers around the smooth swell of his biceps, anchoring him, or maybe me, because this kiss is unspooling me. Taking me away to an alternate reality where we’re not Mia and Gavin, just friends, but Mia and Gavin, in love.
Love. The forbidden word slips into my consciousness like a whisper. It’s how I’ve felt about him for years, but deeper, or maybe higher, like the pinnacle of a coaster when your stomach is in your throat but the safety bar is keeping you grounded. Elation, and safety, too.
This isn’t just anyone, it’s my best friend, and I can trust him. His mouth on mine is sweet, hungry. My fingers can’t help but trace his stubbled jaw, grip the trimmed hair at his nape. His mouth coaxes mine open, asking for more, and I give it, sweeping my tongue against his. Kissing him doesn’t feel like a risk. It feels like everything finally makes sense.
The bell above the door chimes, startling us apart, but his eyes hold mine, irises swallowed up by his pupils, like he’s taking me in. Sunlight from the wall of windows falls on his hair, highlighting the range of hues from cedar to pine, and nestles in the hollow of his throat, illuminating his hammering pulse.
I’m breathing too fast, too hard for such a brief touch. But every time our lips meet, it feels like something I’ve waited my whole life for.
