Page 45 of The Incredible Ordinary

“But if he didn’t, you’d know how,” he counters.

I give up with a resigned sigh. “Yes, I would know how.”

“I feel like I should ask for lessons.”

I nudge his ankle with my foot and try to glare at him, but I can’t keep my lips from twitching.

“Tell me everything, oh wise one,” he says solemnly.

“Adulting 101. First lesson. How to be thrilled about finding a good parking spot and how to pick your favorite burner on the stove.”

His brows hike higher. “You have a favorite burner on the stove?”

“Please hold all questions until after the lecture. Also, the only acceptable answer is yes, and it’s the front right one. You should really be taking notes.”

He leans forward, eyes focused on me, gaze sharpening. I blink at the sudden rush of warmth that moves through me at that look.

“This is also hot.”

I blink at him.

“Pardon?”

“This.” He waves his hand my way. “The whole commanding, slightly arrogant attitude. Sexy.”

I’m probably tomato red by the time he finishes talking. My face feels like it’s on fire. “Thank you?”

“I have to somehow repay you for those adulting lessons.”

“You can’t buy better grades in this class by complimenting my looks,” I say, because I can joke, too.

“I would say it’s more of a favor for a favor type of situation.” The teasing grin he’s been wearing this whole time turns softer. “I consider you my friend,” he says, “and I know we haven’t really known each other for that long, but…” He shrugs. “I like you.”

It’s such a simple statement, but those three words carry so much meaning.

It’s comfort and appreciation and acceptance.

It’s ahey, you’re my kind of person.

“I like you too,” I say.

You’re my kind of person, too.

Our gazes lock, and we stare at each other. It’s intense in a good way. It’s bonding with somebody over your mutual like of each other.

It’s simple.

It’s nice.

We keep talking. Random things that give me an insight into who Milán is. What he likes to do in his free time, the kinds of sports he likes, what music he listens to, and what kinds of books he reads.

We overstay our welcome at the restaurant without me even realizing, too deep in conversation.

It doesn’t feel like that big of a deal, even though it usually would.

I’m a rules guy. I follow them. I like them. Rules make me feel safe. I toe the line. I conform to expectations.

We pay the bill and head out. It’s a cool fall afternoon. Milán zips up his jacket and makes a face.