Page 60 of Checking It Twice
This is torture. Pure, exquisite torture. Every casual touch, every shared laugh, and every time she calls me Mitchy in that soft voice that makes me want to kiss her until she forgets her own name—it’s breaking down my carefully constructed self-control, piece by piece.
“You two are adorable,” Jess observes, and I realize we’ve been staring at each other again. “How long did you say you’ve been together?”
“Three months,” Clare answers without missing a beat.
“Still in the honeymoon phase then,” Sarah says with a knowing smile. “Everything’s still new and exciting.”
If only she knew how new this feeling is. How completely Clare has turned my world upside down in just a weekend.
“Something like that,” I say.
As the evening wears on, Clare becomes progressively more relaxed. She tucks her legs under her and leans fully into my side now, her head occasionally dropping to rest on my shoulder when she laughs particularly hard at something.
It’s domestic. The sort of comfortable that isn’t about settling but about finding exactly where you belong.
This is what I was missing with Hannah, I realize. This easy intimacy, this sense of partnership. The feeling that I could sit in a dive bar with this woman for hours and never get bored.
“We should probably head back,” I suggest eventually when Clare starts yawning. “Early morning tomorrow.”
The group begins gathering coats and settling tabs, the evening winding down with promises to stay in touch that we all know probably won’t happen. But as we get ready to leave, Clare disappears toward the bathroom, leaving me alone with my friends for the first time all evening.
“I like her,” Sarah says immediately.
“She’s good for you,” Tommy adds. “Different from Hannah.”
“Different how?”
“She sees you,” Jess replies simply. “Hannah always looked at you like you were a nice idea she was trying to convince herself to accept. Clare looks at you like she can’t quite believe you’re real.”
The observation hits harder than it should because it’s true. Hannah spent our entire relationship trying to fit me into some predetermined box labeled “husband material.” Clare looks at me like she’s discovering something new every time.
“Plus, she’s funny,” Jake adds. “And she doesn’t take your shit.”
“I don’t have shit.”
“Everyone has shit, Mitchell. She just calls you on yours.”
They’re right, and that should probably terrify me. Instead, it brings a warm, hopeful feeling to settle in my chest.
Clare reappears, bundled in her coat, her cheeks flushed from the warmth of the bar. “Ready?”
The walk back to the house is quiet, our breath creating small clouds in the cold air. Clare slips her hand into mine without asking, and I squeeze gently, not wanting to break the comfortable silence.
But my mind is racing. We’re heading back to that tiny bed, and I’ll have to spend another night lying inches away from her, pretending I don’t want to kiss every inch of her.
“Your friends are nice,” she says as we turn onto my parents’ street.
“They liked you too.”
“How could you tell?”
“Tommy actually spoke in complete sentences. That’s basically a marriage proposal from him.”
She laughs, the sound echoing in the quiet neighborhood. “Good to know I passed the test.”
“There was no test.”
“There’s always a test.” She stops walking and turns to face me under the streetlight. Snow has started falling again, catching in her hair like tiny diamonds. “The question is whether I passed yours.”
