Page 40 of Yours, For Good

"Yeah. People who didn't grow up rich. Who speak their mind."

Her eyes were still on me. Like she was taking a big risk in sharing this, and prepared for whatever my response might be.

The night before, in our conversation at the library, she noted I never asked her about her family. Of course I didn't; I knew more than she thought. She kept her past private and didn't easily share.

That she told me a small sliver of it was a good sign… even if guilt spread inside. The joy of gaining a piece of her trust melted faster than the ice cream in front of us, because I didn't deserve it.

I took a big gulp of my coffee and anchored my eyes to the mug. "You feel like a fish out of water, then?"

"Not even of this world. Like an alien trying to pass as a human."

"You're very human to me."

When she didn't immediately respond, I caved and gazed at her.

Her eyes were soft on my face. "Maybe you think that because you're also a bit of an odd duck, aren't you?"

"I've had it really good, Nora. I don't think it's comparable."

"I think you had it really good… and feeling different is a feeling we've both had."

I stared at her. She let me, her eyes relentless on me, even as she scooped more of my ice cream for herself with a cheeky smile.

I robbed some of her cinnamon dessert to balance the scales. "Everyone feels different from everyone else. Isn't that a universal experience?"

She considered me, even as her spoon made it across the table again.

"But does everyone feel lonely?" she finally asked…

… right before she licked the chocolate ice cream off her spoon, in a suggestive move I wasn't sure she'd intended.

"Do you feel lonely?" I croaked.

"Do you?"

Giving up as much as I could, I swapped our bowls of ice cream.

I'd read it right. She liked my ice cream better. Nora lifted her arms in a celebratory gesture, very much like the night I'd surrendered and danced with her.

"Not right now," I said.

Chapter 18

Nora

WE WERE DONE EATING ice cream, and talked about everything and anything while we finished our coffee, when his phone rang.

"I'm sorry—" he got his phone out of his pocket and stared at the screen. "It's one of my friends. They're the only ones with the ringer on."

I remained silent as he checked his notifications.

He frowned. "I have to take this. I'll be right back. Sorry."

I nodded and watched him go. He stepped outside the coffee shop, leaving his coat behind, and sat outside on a sidewalk bench. The pose he adopted was quickly becoming familiar, with a casual lean back, an ankle over his other leg, and a hand over the lifted knee.

His frown dissolved slowly, to be replaced with a faint smile on his lips. I didn't realize I watched him until he lifted his serious eyes my way, and our gazes locked. I cocked my head to the side, unashamed. He lifted his free hand and waved his fingers playfully; I returned the gesture.

I sighed. It was totally okay to find your friend incredibly attractive, right? One could absolutely have thoughts like that and have them be objective. Neutral. Like studying a piece of art and knowing it was classically beautiful, and noting the skill it took to make it, even if it didn't make you feel much to look at it.