Page 66 of The Friend Zone

He put a hand to my cheek as his stare wandered my face, and I was afraid he was going to kiss me. I was afraid because if he did, in that raw moment, I wouldn’t be able to stop him. I had to keep that stuff under control. For both of us. I couldn’t let lines blur.

But the side of his mouth came up into a smile. “You’re hungry. Come on.”

He pulled me into the nearest cafe.

Like, seriously. The nearest one. He didn’t even look at the menu on the easel.

“What?” I said, horrified as he dragged me inside by the hand. “Aren’t we going to at least check the reviews? What if it only has three stars?”

He held up two fingers to the hostess and turned to me. “You kill me, you know that? On one hand you embrace danger at every turn, and on the other you won’t risk getting bad pancakes. And anyway, I’m buying.”

I shook my head. “No, I’ll pay for myself. We’re not on a date.”

“I know. Don’t worry—I’m not trying to slip a date past you.” He made a face like the idea was crazy. “I’d just like to buy you breakfast. I like feeding you.”

“Why?”

He grinned at me and put his hands on my shoulders. “Because you’re a lot nicer to me when you’ve eaten. It’s more for me than you, really.”

I cracked a smile and we followed the hostess through the restaurant to a table in a tiny enclosed patio. We had the space all to ourselves.

It was actually a little romantic. Mismatched bistro chairs and reclaimed wood tables with little vases of carnations on them. The patio was full of potted plants. Several fountains trickled along the vine-twisted brick walls that enclosed us. Throw pillows with Aztec patterns in the booths, Christmas lights strung over us. Intimate and lovely.

I was still going to check the reviews though.

Once we’d ordered, Josh started hitting me with questions. I think the brunch from hell was starting to process.

“I don’t think I appreciated my mom enough,” he said, taking the garnishes off his Bloody Mary and sliding them across to me on a napkin. “What was it like growing up with a mom like that?”

I nibbled on the pickle spear. “Like that brunch—but for eighteen years.”

“She reminds me of that lady from that movie…” He snapped his fingers. “The one with Meryl Streep?”

I scoffed. “The Devil Wears Prada? She might be the devil. Nobody’s ever seen them in the same room at the same time before.”

He chuckled and I smiled weakly at him. God, he was my hero. In the last thirty minutes, Josh had done the modern-day equivalent of slaying a dragon. He saved me. Twice. Once from the Ice Queen and then again from starvation.

Food was my currency. Hungry was an emotion for me. I felt that shit in my soul.

I looked at the napkin he gave me. He liked all this stuff—celery, pickles, olives, shrimp. Either my hangry was truly terrifying or he gave it to me because he was taking care of me. He hadn’t eaten yet either. He was hungry too, but he didn’t even keep an olive for himself.

Josh was going to make a very good daddy one day. He was selfless and principled. Brave. Loyal.

He’d make a good husband to someone too.

I thought about how he’d given me his French toast earlier, and I had to clutch my heart through my dress.

“You okay?” he asked, watching me squeeze my chest.

I nodded. “Yeah.”

It’s just that you’re perfect, and my heart hurts.

“Hey…” His eyes narrowed at my hand, and he reached for it over the table. “How’d you get this?” He ran a thumb along the purple mark just above my knuckles.

The touch gave me butterflies.

“Oh, it was a freak Pop-Tart accident while you were at work.”