Page 22 of The Goode Girls of Maple Lane
I nod, feeling suddenly shy for some reason. “Yeah.”
We look at each other like newly smitten idiots for a few seconds. Him with his flushed cheeks, his tousled curls, his grandfather’s glasses, and yet another sweater I want to curl up in, this one fuzzy and olive green with a Charlie Brown zigzag in a deep eggplant running around his chest. Me with my mismatched socks, my barely legible concert tee, and my tangled topknot nearly falling out of its overburdened elastic. And suddenly it doesn’t matter anymore that I’m not as beautiful and put together as the woman in the hallway. She wasn’t the right partner for Everett, or maybe she was, for a while, but she isn’t now, and now is what matters.
Who we are—or at least who wecould be—together is what matters.
I take a step forward, putting me nearly toe to toe with Everett.
He walks his fingers along the edge of the counter, inching closer until the pad of his index finger makes contact with mine, tapping it like an invitation to come out and play.
“Everett?” I ask. “Can I—”
“Yes.”
“You don’t know what I was going to—”
“Doesn’t matter. The answer’s yes.”
I almost call him on this, tell him I was going to ask if I could compost his plants or get rid of his Neil Diamond CDs. But the warmth in my chest takes over, and the softness of his skin where it’s barely touching mine, and the look in his eyes, the anticipation, the vulnerability, the heat, the want, the will, the care, the trust. All that in a look. He deserves the same in return.
So I don’t make a joke. Instead, I close the distance and kiss him. Or maybe he kisses me, leaning forward at the same I do ashis fingers slide between mine to knot our hands together on the counter while his other arm wraps my waist and draws me against him. His lips are warm. His hands are firm. His eyelids drift closed and I let mine do the same, relaxing into the feel of him, into knowing I didn’t imagine anything after all. I didn’t get it wrong this time, which is good, becausenothingabout this feels wrong. Not his arm against my back and his hand in mine. Not his lips gently parting so his tongue can slide against mine, sending a jolt of liquid heat through my entire body. Not the breath that rushes out of him. Not the softness of his hair as I slip my free hand around the back of his neck and tug at his curls. I like his height, only a few inches taller than me, and his build, strong, solid, but like a guy who spends a lot of time in an office, not a gym. I like the press of his chest against mine. Everything about him just... fits.
A softthump, thump, thumphalts my thoughts. And our kiss.
Everett pulls back at the same time I do, not far, but far enough for us both to glance over at the futon where Aggie’s watching us intently with her head resting on the cushions between her paws as her skinny little hairless tail plays a happy drumbeat.
“Someone has a lot of opinions tonight,” I tell her in a faux-scoldy voice.
Everett’s chest shakes with a silent laugh. “Maybe she’s excited about brownies?”
Her brows twitch as she looks back and forth between us, her tail still wagging.
“Thatis not about brownies,” I tell Everett.
He turns his smile on me, and it’s a hell of a smile, with his lips reddened from kissing, his cheeks flushed, his dimples on full display, and his eyes sparkling behind his glasses in a way I haven’tseen before. It’s magical, this post-first-kiss moment, as the armor we’ve both been wearing falls away and the little voice that’s been whispering quietly but continuouslyWhat if it’s just me?finally goes quiet.
“I’m glad your dog likes me,” he says. “It could be a real problem if she didn’t.”
I trace the zigzag pattern on his chest with my index finger. “It’s the sweaters.”
His brows rise. “She likes my sweaters, does she?”
“I mean, they’re pretty cute on you. All these mushy yarns and cozy fall vibes.”
He unlinks our hands where they still rest on the counter, looping me within both of his arms and giving my nose a quick nuzzle. “What if I also have a winter collection?”
I huff out a laugh, already picturing it. “Do you?”
He shakes his head, echoing my laugh. “No, but now I kind of want one. Just so I can hear how cuteyour dogthinks I am in those, too.”
My face goes hot and I can tell I’m blushing, which is ridiculous when he already knows I like him. Any attempt at hiding that—however futile—ended when I kissed him.
But just in case...
“Everett?” I say. “I really like you.”
“Good,” he says. “Because I really like you, too.”
Then he kisses me again, while over on the futon, Aggie’s tail thumps away.
