Page 112 of Power Moves
‘Millsy, you need to stop talking about the banter.’
‘But it was so good,’ I whine.
‘We were good at other things too.’
I huff. ‘Yeah sure, I’ll tell my grandchildren about how we both excelled at extrapolating the most salient line-items from overly jargonistic budget papers. They’ll be so stoked for me.’
Archie shakes his head and then he laughs. It’s a quiet chuckle that starts in the crinkles around his eyes and gently lifts his lips. ‘Millsy, if out of everything we’ve done together, you consider the banter the highlight, I will be so thoroughly disappointed.’
I narrow my eyes. ‘Are you thinking of the time we convinced Larry to buy us Chiko rolls?’
Archie takes a step towards me. ‘Nope.’
‘Tennis?’
‘Wrong again.’ His hands land on my waist.
My eyes widen. ‘If you’re going to squeeze my glutes to check my cycle-readiness, I’m warning you that I’m going to flex as hard as I can.’
A half-smile tugs at his lips, and my mind is pirouetting around a possibility I’m too scared to latch on to because the dashed hope will crush me if I’m reading this wrong. I try to keep my voice steady. ‘If you’d just accept we could be friends, I’d feel much more comfortable about having accidentally mentioned my glutes to you … again.’
Archie’s fingers tighten around me and his lips curve into a smile. ‘How many times can I tell you that I’m not here to be your friend?’
My voice is squeaky when it eventually works. ‘Archie, I need more words from you.’
His eyes fasten on mine, sparkling as if they know every joke that’s ever been told. ‘Hi,’ he says.
‘Hi?’ I repeat.
‘Hi,’ he confirms.
My lungs absorb the impact. He holds my gaze, grinning, willing me to smile back. It feels like I’m back under that frangipani tree. The wonder, the confusion, the hope that this might become something bigger than I can understand. But I’m a communications professional now. I know how easy it is to misinterpret things. I need to ask hard questions to get clear answers. I don’t want miscommunication. I want clear, I want concise, I want the truth. Ineedit.
‘Archie Cohen,’ I whisper. ‘Are you trying to make a move on me?’
‘Millsy,’ he says, pulling me close. ‘I’ve been trying for years.’
His lips press against mine and his arms sweep around me. The tiny speck of glittery shock in my heart is swept away by agust of relief. My body feels like it’s soaring but I know that’s impossible because I’m here, with Archie, andwe fit.
Archie grabs the fabric of my trackies in his fists and tugs me closer, locking our hips together as he laughs against my mouth.
‘I’m so happy,’ he scrapes out, and I laugh between kisses becauseI’mso happy too. Maybe we’ll always have the urge to copy each other’s words, not because we’re unoriginal or immature, but because we’re in sync. I’m not perfect and neither is he, but somehow—weirdly, awkwardly, hopelessly—we are perfect for each other.
I’m not sure if I want a thousand tiny kisses or a languorously slow one, and we settle somewhere in between until his arms tighten around me. I let myself lean into the hug as if he’s the shore and I’m a boat that’s been out at sea too long.
‘Please tell me you’re not working today,’ I say, my face pressed into the cotton on his shirt.
‘Is that an invitation to stay?’
‘Yes,’ I say, pulling back so he can see the sincerity in my eyes. ‘Please read into that.’
Archie smiles and weaves his hands under my T-shirt to hold the small of my back. ‘I will read theshitout of that.’
I giggle and my head falls back against his chest. ‘Do you think we’ll ever have a serious conversation?’
‘I’m actually really serious about this,’ he says, squeezing me.
My voice hitches when I speak. ‘Same.’
