Page 48 of You're The One
I clear my throat. “What’s the vibe like in the house?”
I’mnotdisappointed when she tells me about River’s headache tinctures, Summer’s acoustic version ofSkinny Lovethat had half the room in tears, or how Victoria is more layered than she lets on.
She doesn’t mention the one person I’m curious about. Only because I’m supposed to be looking out for her. She seemed different today. Less fiery.
And I’m not sure what to make of it.
Have we reached some kind of truce? Have I finally cracked through her armadillo-level shell?
Emma and I fall into an easy conversation. She tells me how she was born in Texas but raised in Connecticut, that her mom’s a writer and her biggest inspiration. She became a literary agent because she loved stories but had a head for business. She’s read a bunch of the same books I have, which surprises me. I’m not exactly known for my refined literary taste.
I invite her to join my book club with Hannah, and she seems into it. Says she’s excited to meet everyone when we head to Chicago in a few weeks.
She’s thoughtful. Genuine. Kind.
Everything about this should be clicking into place.
And it is. It feels right—ish.
Yet, I catch myself wondering if something is missing. Are my expectations too high? Am I expecting the magic and fireworks you get in a rom-com novel or movie? Maybe real love is quieter. I should’ve asked Logan about this. I wish I had my teammates around… they’d definitely give me shit, but they’d also help me figure it all out.
I brush the thought aside.This is good. She’s good.
Time passes quickly, like catching up with an old friend and realizing there’s no end to the backlog of stories. No awkward silences. No forced topics. It just flows.
There’s also no giving me shit. And that’s good, right?
“Want to watch the rest of the sunset over there?” She nods toward a cluster of rocks shaped like a bench facing the ocean.
“Yeah, let’s do that.” I offer her my hand, and when she takes it, I keep it in mine. Once we’re seated, I try to let go, but she squeezes back, keeping us connected.
This is nice.
It is.
My other hand starts to feel clammy, so I wipe it on my pants. Hopefully, the one she’s holding isn’t the same. If it is, she doesn’t seem to mind.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispers, her gaze fixed on the sky, midnight blue now, with just a sliver of golden light clinging to the horizon.
“Can I kiss you?” I ask before I can talk myself out of it. Almost immediately, I second-guess the words.
I want to kiss her. I do.
Or… Ishould wantto.
It seems like the right move. It is?—
“So, I want to, but—” Her cheeks flush. She glances at her lap, then lifts her eyes to mine again, hesitantly.
“No explanation needed. No is a full sentence,” I say in a rush.
When a strange wave of relief washes over me… it worries me.
“I want to,” she repeats. “It’s just… I feel weird doing that knowing my family’s going to be watching.” She shoots a glance toward the cameras.
“Of course. I get that. No pressure.” I smile, trying to put her at ease.
The pressure releases in my chest, and it’s like a valve opening.
