Page 48 of The One Where They Fall in Love

“Why would it be weird?” I ask, my brain racing for a way to change the direction of this conversation.

“Well, it’s not like we’re dating—”

“If we were dating, you certainly wouldn’t be sleeping on the couch,” I say impulsively. I can’t say I haven’t imagined the picture of Elle in my bed, her soft skin wrapped in my sheets. I gauge her reaction, expecting her to snap back with some witty remark, but instead her eyes just widen at me, and her cheeks flush pink.

“Are you…blushing?”

She turns around immediately, shutting the stove off. “No! No, I just—”

“Was imagining being in my bed,” I say, a newfound confidence in my voice.

A minute ago, I thought Elle was trying to avoid me, but now, after seeing her reaction to that idea, I can’t helpbut wonder if she’s pictured the same thing I have. If she’s been thinking about the day she found me panicking and we almost kissed, or at least I thought we were going to.

I take a step towards her, boxing her between me and the counter. When she turns around to get an oven mitt, she comes face-to-face with my chest, and a delicious gasp escapes her lips. I clench my fists beside me to prevent myself from reaching out for her.

“What are you—?”

“I want you to stay here, Elle, and I think you do too,” I say in a low voice.

Her eyes slowly make their way up my body until she meets mine. “Why would I want that?” she whispers. I inhale as she speaks, and I’m met with the scent of her shampoo—fruity smelling, mixed with vanilla.

My stomach tightens with anxiety at the thought of what to say next. I have no right to want Elle. I threw her at Henry because I thought he was better for her. But she said it herself the other night. She didn’t feel right with him. And things have felt different since then. It can’t just be on my end.

“Why did you end things with Henry?” I finally say, my gut sayingfuck itto my brain for the first time in years.

I think Elle might actually burst from the color that rushes to her face. She literally cannot hide a single thing behind her expressions. Her mind is right there on her face, a book for anyone to read.

“I—I told you, we just didn’t work out,” she stammers. She looks around me for a way to escape the situation, pressing her hands against the counter, dropping them, and repeating the motion. She won’t meet my eyes again.

“Elle—” I say, reaching out and tracing a line down her arm. I see goosebumps rise along her skin. “Look at me.”

She nods her head so she’s looking even more at the floor. “I—I… We can’t…”

Her reluctance feels like a punch to the stomach. What was I thinking?I’mthe reason we can’t do this.I’mthe reason I pushed her away all those months ago.I’mthe guy who told her he doesn’t want a relationship. The guy who is so unsure of his career, his family, himself… And here I am acting on impulses, being completely selfish.

I take a step back, a chill falling between us. “You’re right, I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me,” I say, my words stumbling over one another.

“Oliver, nothing has changed for me. I still want—”

“I know,” I say, nodding, but not meeting her eyes. “I lost myself for a moment I guess.” I swallow hard and finally look at her. She looks small against the countertop, and I want nothing more than to take her in my arms. I’ve hurt her, which is the last thing I ever wanted to do. “You’re my friend. I don’t want to lose that.”

She nods. “I agree.”

“But I still think you should stay here. It’s just another week. Thor would miss you too much.” At the mention of his name, Thor trots into the kitchen and plops into a sit, waiting to see if he’ll get anything. Elle laughs when he tilts his head at her expectantly.

“I would miss him too,” she says. When I look back up at her, she’s smiling.

Twenty-One

Elle

“So, you’ve officially gone fromenemies-to-loverstoonly one bed? What’s next?”

I can hear the disbelief in Lucy’s voice. She pokes her head out of the dressing room and wags her eyebrows at me. “And I thought a small-town trope was pushing it for me,” she adds, conducting this conversation with a casual tone, as if we’re not standing in the middle of a dress store with customers and employees all around us.

“Lucy, can we maybe discuss this later?” I ask in a rushed whisper. In a moment, she will emerge all pinned up and white and I’ll stand here and “ooh” and “ahh” and then we’ll get lunch. Hopefully. There definitely should be food involved in this deal.

Lucy’s head pops out from behind the curtain again. Her long brown locks are tied up in a tight bun on top of her head, stray hairs falling on her cheeks. I can see the outline of the dress around her neck, but am quickly redirected to her face as she scowls at me.