“Such a shame.” She raises her water glass. “To my favorite jeans. May they rest in pieces.”
After we order, we fill the time chatting about school and her internship. I tell her about student teaching and where I’m at with marathon training. We argue about the TV series we started watching a few weeks ago, and I laugh at how passionately Ivy defends the actions of one of the characters. I recall my latest book talk phone call with Jacob, and the smile on her face is pure happiness.
Conversation, like always, flows comfortably between us. She gets me, and I get her, and that’s why we’ve been best friends for so long. Thank god it hasn’t become awkward now that I know how her lips feel on mine. How she looks when she comes.
The only difference now is that when I want to touch her, I can. When I want to take my time appreciating the captivating features of her face, her striking blue eyes and that sexy as fuck dimple, I can. I don’t have to look away. I don’t have to stifle my impulses or hide the desire in my gaze. And it feels fucking amazing.
“Remember when we came here after homecoming sophomore year?” I ask as we sip our post-pizza espressos.
“Yep yep,” she says, studying me over her coffee cup. Then she arches a brow and her lips turn up slightly. “Why?”
“I thought it was a date. When I asked you to go with me, I meant for it to be a date.” I drop the truth bomb, and she sets down her cup, gaping at me once more.
“What? But we were with half the soccer team,” she declares in disbelief, and I shrug.
“Yeah, but I got us our own table. I ordered for us both. I was even planning to pay. In my head, that was a date.”
“But you started dating that Tasha girl on the girls’ soccer team, like, right after.” Her statement is pointed, her face puzzled and slightly annoyed.
“Mmhm. Two days after. I actually called her that night after I dropped you off at home.”
Ivy gasps at my confession.
“Ew! That’s gross, Kelley,” she admonishes. “Why would you do that? If you wanted to go on a date with me then why would you immediately call redheaded Natasha Winston, JV soccer team captain and one of the most popular people in our grade? It makes no sense.”
Despite the obvious offense in her words, I can’t stop the stupid giddy excitement that swirls in my stomach. Why does Ivy remember so much about my first girlfriend? I only dated Tasha for a month and she and Ivy were never friends.
“Ivy Jean Rivenbark, were you jealous?”
“Pfff, no. But Tasha was like you with boobs so of course I remember. I thought for sure you’d get married and have little ginger babies. They’d probably crawl out of her womb wearing soccer cleats.” She folds her arms over her chest and looks away.
She was definitely jealous.
I fucking love it.
Instead of toying with her some more, even though I really want to know about this teenaged jealousy because I could have sworn she had zero interest in me in high school, I relent and do my best to hide my pleased smirk.
“You remember what you said to me when it came time to pay the check that night?”
Her eyes snap to mine, once again searching for the answer, her eyebrows crinkled in thought. “I don’t,” she admits finally. “What did I say?”
“You said that you needed to make sure to pay your half because you couldn’t allow people to think we were on a date.”
Her eyes widen.
“You said the cheerleaders would steal your gym clothes to retaliate if you ‘claimed their favorite eye candy.’ You told me that they’d already messed with you for spending so much time with me.” I pause for minute to let that sink in. “So, I decided to make sure everyone knew we were just friends, even if that’s not what I wanted.”
I pay the check and grab her hand. We walk to the truck in silence, and her eyes are downcast. I don’t interrupt her. This is a lot, and I know she’s probably running through every memory, every decision, from the time we were kids to now.
She wordlessly hands me the keys, and I open the passenger door for her to climb in, then I jog around to the driver’s side. For a long moment, we just sit together silently in the cab of the truck. Ivy picks the blue cornflower out of the cupholder and studies it while I study her.
After a moment, she turns those stunning, shining eyes on me.
“How did I not see it before?” she whispers. “How did I not know?”
I reach out to cup her cheek and she leans into it, eyes still swirling with questions and wonder. I swallow.
“You know now.”