Head Over Feels

My smile grows ridiculously, I’m sure, across my face. “You have favorite things about me?”

He shakes his head and reaches to rub the back of his neck again but stops and stands instead. “That list is too long for tonight, and I should get going.” He rolls his sleeves back down and puts his suit jacket back on before reaching down to take the box. A slight clang of the mugs bumping together rings, and he says, “I’ll be careful.”

Despite wanting to, I shouldn’t keep him any longer or delve into that favorites list he apparently has of me. We’ve been friends for so long, but no matter how close we are, or weren’t, some things between us have been held back on both sides.

I’m glad we’re remedying the situation.

“Thank you.” I push off the bed and go to the door. I stop and look at him once more. “I’m glad we’re friends and . . . and that we have this chance to get to know each other better.” I should feel awkward, the two of us standing here alone for what feels like the first time, but I don’t, though. Nothing but hope rises inside me and brings a smile to my face right now.

“It will be good, a long time coming and nice to have your company.”

I could overanalyze that he said my company versus a general anyone’s company, but instead, I take it for what he means and look forward to watching our friendship grow. “Yeah, it will be a nice change for me too.” Opening the door, I let him go first and follow him down the hall. “And I promise to stay out of your hair, so you can carry on with life as usual.”

He stops one flight down, and a crinkle of his brow is smoothed just as quickly as it appears. “It’s funny because you being in my hair is one of the things I’m most looking forward to.” His laugh is so genuine—deep and soothing—a blanket that warms me in the hollows of the building. “You can start staying there tomorrow if you’d like.”

“I might take you up on that. I’m almost packed, and it makes it kind of chaotic to be around.”

We continue down the stairs, and I push open the door. When he comes out, he sets the box down gently and pulls his phone out. I briefly catch a rideshare app on his phone before he pockets it again and retrieves the box. “I’ve been meaning to ask when you want to tell the others?”

“Oh, uh, it’s not a secret, so anytime. I did tell Cammie tonight. I didn’t know you wanted to wait.”

“No, I don’t. I also didn’t know. It’s not a big deal. Anyway,” he says, walking to the curb, “if Cammie knows, Cade knows, and you know it will travel down that gossip vine from there.”

A blue sedan pulls to the curb and rolls down the window. A guy leans over the console, eyeing us, and then calls, “Rad?”

“That’s me.” Turning back to me, Rad says, “I’ll have a key sent to your office tomorrow. Use it when you’re ready.” He pauses, briefly glancing at the driver. “I’ll be home late tomorrow.”

“I’m not your mom—”

“Most definitely not.” A wry grin spreads across his lips.

My curiosity gets the best of me, though. “Got a hot date?” I try to sound casual but fail miserably. To distract him from my ridiculousness, I rock forward and poke his stomach . . . Whoa. Hard as a rock.

“I’d rather be there to help you settle in, but . . .” Him having a date or even a girlfriend shouldn’t disappoint me . . . still. I hate this feeling, the drop of jealousy that poisons a good time. “I have to work late. I’ve added a new case to my load, and well, I shouldn’t have taken it on, but I needed to.”

“You sound like me.”

The driver lays on his horn. This time, I’m the one looking away when I hear the rattle of an old window open. Mr. Meisler dips his head out the window. “Knock it off. My wife’s trying to sleep.” He spies us but remains expressionless as he lights up a cigarette. “Nice night.”

Rad says, “Don’t hesitate to call or text me if you need anything, anything at all.” I don’t know when the inches between us disappeared, but the tips of our shoes touch as he stares into my eyes in an unfamiliar way. “I should go.”

“Yes, me too.”

“If I don’t see you at your place tomorrow night, I’ll see you Friday.”

“See you when I see you.”

I start the short walk back, each step away from him a little heavier.

“Hey, Bell?”

When I look back, he says, “He’s a fool for letting you go.”

Melting might be more Marlow’s speed, dramatic, but he sure has a way to make a girl feel special. “You’re not so bad yourself, Welly.”