Page 93 of Drawn Together
“I was.” He grimaces. “That was right after he got diagnosed; I would’ve given the guy my kidney if he asked.”
“That’s sweet.”
“It was the very least I could do. I owed him everything.”
“Here.” I grab the balloon from him and pinch the end together in a tie.
“It’s unfair of you to be good at everything.”
I scoff. “I am not good at everything.”
“The bikes, trivia, now this.”
“Well, trivia was just one instance. Had it been on…molecular structure, it would’ve been a landslide on your end.”
“Molecular structure?” He jerks his chin.
“And the bikes I’m not great at, just a lot better than you.” I lift my balloon up. “Same goes for this.”
“Then I’ll rephrase. It’s unfair of you to be better than me at everything.”
“You’re better at a lot of things.”
“Like?”
“Like…you can see wonderful things in very low times. You have an excellent perspective on life.”
He pinches a balloon as he ties it off. “You think?”
“Yeah.” I grab the tied-off balloon from him and adjust it, so it won’t pop. “I do.”
“I believe you would be the first.” He gets up to change the song before trying to blow up another one with our hand pumps.
This time, when he sits back down, he’s closer than before. I can smell clean dryer sheets on his shirt and see the tiny sweat beads forming at the base of his hairline.
“It’s one of the exercises my therapist gave me, after Ryan and all. Count your blessings and whatnot. Knowing you’re not the only miserable person on this planet.”
“I did that for a while after college.” My body recoils at the thought of that time. “I counted up all my favorite things, like they were reasons to keep going.”
“What kind of stuff did you think about?”
I sigh. “Hydrangeas blooming in the spring back home. The smell of rain on asphalt. When babies don’t smile at anyone else, but then they smile at you. 80s coming of age movies and oversized sweaters that fall over your wrist. When it’s all chillyin the morning but then warms up by noon. Lipstick stains on a can of Diet Coke. Carving pumpkins and sticking a candle in them to light up at night. Butter melting on a fresh stack of warm pancakes. All the good things in the world.”
“Wow.”
“Why?” I clear my throat. “What did you think about when you were stuck?”
“I…didn’t think much beyond the basics. Read a lot. Worked a lot. Mostly focused on making sure I was actually eating healthy and drinking water, something I forgot about for a while there. I lost a ton of weight and looked a little sickly. Checked in on Lenny a lot. Stephan and I had a routine where if one of us was busy, the other was keeping an eye on her.”
He groans as he unfolds his long legs, stretching to a stand. “I’m too old to sit on hardwoods for this long.” His long hands stretch back behind him and push on his back, a satisfying crack from popping his spine.
Standing over me like this, he looks so…Fletcher. Tall. Lean. Cut and curved into a perfect piece of pottery. I want to draw him—lay him out and let my fingers sketch every hard edge and line.
When he stretches his arms overhead again, his sweater lifts to show a single sliver of skin, inches over the button of his jeans. His belt buckle rests just above it. My fingers itch to drag a long pull over the smooth gold end. With my heart hammering and a flush creeping up my neck, I tear my gaze from the enthralling view. Because apparently, my body doesn’t know the difference between running from a bear in the forest and making eye contact with the button on Fletcher’s pants.
Thankfully, Fletcher and his pants walk into the kitchen before he comes back with two chair cushions—one for him and one for me. We adjust our stance and pull open the next bag, revealing a burst of Halloween-themed balloons in vibrant colors.
“Christmas or Halloween?” I ask, as I take the first foil bat out of the package.
