Page 25 of Your Sharpest Edge
But I caught the small smile tugging at her lips and the way her gaze lingered on me for a beat longer.
We worked in comfortable silence—the only sounds were the occasional clink of the spoon against the bowl or the soft hum of a song playing from her phone. And as she stood there, licking a bit of batter off her thumb, I realized that if this were the foundation of a real friendship, I’d never want it to end. It was effortless, like we’d known each other in another life, and I wondered if she felt it too—the way the air seemed to thicken whenever our eyes met, or how her laughter seemed to echo in the empty spaces of my heart.
“Okay, your turn to scoop,” she said, handing me the spoon.
She was close now, close enough that I could see the tiny flecks of flour dusting her cheeks and the way her blonde hair fell around her face.
We scooped out the dough together, fingers brushing more times than could be considered innocent, and once the tray was ready, she slid it into the oven.
“Now we wait,” she announced, giving me a little grin as she wiped her hands on a towel.
I leaned against the counter, watching her with a smile of my own. “Nine whole minutes, huh? How will we ever pass the time?”
We settled onto the stools at the counter, the warm scent of baking cookies already filling the air, but all I could focus on was the way her knee pressed lightly against mine, neither of us pulling away.
There was an ease between us, something natural and unforced. Was this what real friendship looked like, or was something more woven into the way my heart tightened whenever she laughed or how her presence seemed to fill all the empty spaces inside me?
10
stassi
I glanced at the timer—eight minutes left. I stared at the oven door, pretending I knew what I was doing, but the truth was I had no clue how to make cookies. I’d lied about knowing the recipe, just throwing things together and hoping for the best. Maybe that was what made this moment feel so freeing. For once, it didn’t matter if I got it right or if everything turned out perfect. I could just be messy, uncertain, and it felt like a small rebellion against the rigid lines my life had been forced into.
Alex didn’t call me out on it; he just went along, trusting me even when I didn’t have a plan. The knot in my stomach loosened. In this apartment, there was no one to scold me, no one to demand I be something else. It was just us in this tiny kitchen, and for the first time in what felt like forever, I could feel safe.
“Want to play a game?” Alex interrupted my thoughts. “You know, just while we wait?”
“Oh, yeah.” I sighed, grateful for the chance to break some of the tension. “What do you have in mind?”
“A classic—truth or dare.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Truth or dare, huh? Are we in high school again?”
“Maybe,” he said teasingly, leaning in closer, his gaze never leaving mine. “Or maybe I just want to see how honest you’ll be with me.”
I leaned back in the chair, considering it. I’d never felt pressured with him.
“We can stop it, though, anytime you’re uncomfortable.”
“Alright, you’re on. Truth or dare?”
“Truth,” he said confidently, as if he had nothing to hide.
I tapped my finger against my chin, thinking. “Okay, what’s the most embarrassing thing you’ve done in the past year?”
He laughed, shaking his head. “You’re going easy on me, aren’t you? Alright, let’s see... I accidentally walked into the women’s locker room after practice once. The girls league was on after us. Didn’t realize until I was already halfway inside. I’ve never seen so many horrified looks in my life.”
I burst out laughing, imagining his sheepish expression. “Bet you turned right around.”
“Like my life depended on it,” he admitted, still grinning. “Alright, your turn. Truth or dare?”
“Truth,” I said, feeling a little bolder but also not ready for a dare just yet.
He didn’t hesitate, his expression turning serious. “What are you truly afraid of?”
I wanted to brush it off with a joke, but the intensity in his eyes made me pause. I looked down at my hands, fiddling with the hem of my sleeve as I thought about it. “I’m afraid... I’m afraid of living my life like this forever,” I admitted softly. “Of never having a say in what happens to me. I want to live fully, you know? I want to be creative, have fun... I want to laugh without worrying about the consequences, to feel free.” I glancedup at him, my voice dropping to almost a whisper. “Like tonight. I want to live like we’ve been living tonight for the rest of my life.”
For a second, he just stared at me, as if trying to interpret the depths of what I’d just said. “You deserve that,” he murmured. “More than anything.”
