Take Time To Smell The Books

“We do.”

“It doesn’t hurt that he’s very easy on the eyes.”

“What?”

“You warned me about what would happen if I kissed you and I didn’t listen.”

I gave a breathy laugh.

He smiled. It was a sad smile, not what I’d grown used to, but it still managed to twist my heart. “No, that’s a lie. I was attached before the kiss. Jeff really is a nice guy and one lucky SOB.”

A laugh burst out of me and I covered my mouth.

Dax pushed himself off the wall and I knew he was leaving now that he’d said his piece. I thought about letting him because the thought of that day in the car still physically hurt.

But I couldn’t. Even though I knew this might end in heartbreak, that he might make my life scary and complicated and unpredictable, I knew I couldn’t let him walk away. Because I knew he’d also make my life happy and comforting and full. “Jeff and I aren’t together.”

He stopped, one foot out in front of him, his hands still wrapped around his jacket. “You’re not?”

“Turns out I don’t follow rules either.”

“How so?”

“I became attached to someone I’d said I wouldn’t too.”

“I sure hope you mean me.”

I nodded. He took the three big steps to reach me and picked me up in a hug. I could feel his heart beating against my chest, fast and hard.

I closed my eyes and buried my face in the space between his shoulder and neck.

A shiver went down my spine, and he pulled away and wrapped his jacket around my shoulders, then pulled me close again, his lips millimeters from mine.

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” I asked.

“What?”

“Commitment.”

“Jerking me around?” he asked. “You weren’t. I think we were both testing our feelings. You just seemed to go the opposite way as me.”

I stared at him in front of me, so tall and strong and steady. “I’m glad you’re better, Jeff.”

“Me too.”

“Still friends?”

“There’s nothing wrong with that. I think you sometimes worry too much what your friends will think if you don’t go somewhere and not enough about how you’re feeling.”

“I think I want to be a psychologist.” Because that was safe and secure and not risky at all. But it was more than that too. My psychologist had helped me so much over the years that I wanted to help others.

“I didn’t know that,” Jeff said. “I thought you’d do something with photography.”

“Yeah I . . .”

“But you’re a surgeon and you have the highest salary possible in the game,” I said.

“I do not base my decisions on salary, Autumn. I base them on job satisfaction and I’m unsatisfied. I’m away from my wife and twins too much. I need a change in my life.”

I wanted to laugh again, but I stopped. “You know? Just like that?”

“Well, not just like that, but it was almost that easy. Shouldn’t love be easy?”

“You love her?”

“No, but I just mean the act of falling in love. Shouldn’t it be easy?”

“Yes. It definitely shouldn’t be scripted.”

“Exactly. It’s not something you should have to analyze over and over again. If it’s right, you should know.”

I smiled and shut my menu, looking around for the waiter. “Now you’re the love expert?”

“Always have been, Autumn.”

It wasn’t that I was doubting what I had come to realize at Dax’s mom’s house. I knew I liked Dax. I just wished that Owen had met him. I wanted one second opinion. Everyone else was on Jeff’s side.

The thought of Dax holding my face at the park and saying figure out what you think flashed through my mind. His eyes staring into mine so intensely. I didn’t need other people to tell me what I already knew.

“I know what I think,” I said out loud.

Owen looked up from his menu. “Oh yeah?”

“I like him. A lot.”

“Dax?”

“Yes,” I said.

“And you don’t care about the friend fallout that will occur with that choice?”

“I don’t care.”

He smiled. “Good for you.”

“What?” he asked.

“Thanks for coming tonight. I needed it.”

“Sure.” He ran a single finger along the line of my jaw and I shivered.

“You’re always cold,” he said.

My eyes stared into his. “I’m not cold.”

He was close. Too close. But I didn’t back away. In fact, maybe I had been the one to close the distance between us. I stopped myself from leaning in any closer. I breathed in his breath. Then it was him moving forward, his lips seconds from meeting mine.

“We made a rule,” I whispered.

“Unlike you, I don’t follow rules.” He didn’t give me a chance to respond. His lips met mine and stole my willpower. I pressed closer to him. I tried to move my right hand to his hair but the seatbelt prevented me from getting closer. I searched blindly for the release button, not willing to separate myself from him to find it. He was faster. He unlatched my belt, then pulled me closer.

My hands found his hair, his neck, his shoulders. His hands found my hips, lifting and sliding me across the center console and onto his lap. There wasn’t enough room between him and the steering wheel but that didn’t stop me. My elbows rested on his shoulders as our kiss deepened.

And then a horn sounded, loud and long. I gasped and pulled away. It was me, I realized. My back was pushing on the horn. I laughed, maneuvering myself back into my own seat. Silence filled the air. My lips felt swollen, my cheeks hot.

“You’re in for it now,” I said, buckling my seatbelt again. “Attachment is in your future. I warned you.”

He smiled and opened the car door. When he arrived at the passenger door and opened it for me, I realized we needed to switch places. I needed to drive. How was I going to drive? How was I even going to walk around the car with my wobbly legs? When I stepped out, he didn’t move for me to walk around, though. He pressed me against the car and kissed me again, his warm hands over my ears. I went up on my tiptoes in answer. His warmth poured through my body and I felt like I would explode from happiness. I finally pushed on his chest, breaking the kiss. I was feeling too much, too fast.

Somehow I drove him home, wobbly legs and all, us barely speaking two words. When I pulled to a stop in front of the group home, he leaned over and brushed a kiss on my cheek, then another across my lips.

“Isn’t that what I’ve been trying to say?”

I laughed as I watched the car in front of us do a U-turn and exit the lot again. I laughed a lot around him, I realized. He made me happy. My insides felt like they were glowing, like I wanted to live in this moment forever. I played with the hot pink bracelet still firmly attached to my wrist and I took a deep breath and spit out, “You’ve definitely been added to the archive the last couple of weeks.”

“What archive?” he asked.

“The happy memories one. The one I’ll draw from in my dark times,” I said quietly.

A smile stole away his hard expression before he wiped it off and pretended I hadn’t seen it. But I had. And it got added to the bank.

“What?”

“You know the hospital will stress you out tomorrow, especially with Dallin there.”

“Yes.”

“But instead of staying home for your own mental health, you’re going to go there because someone else is expecting it.”

“I can’t stop living life.”

“It’s not something you want to do. You’re worrying about someone else’s emotions instead of your own.”

“Either I’d be sitting at home worrying about Jeff wondering why I wasn’t there or I’d be at the hospital worrying about Dallin being mad at me for being there.”

“Because you haven’t told them. If you told them you had an anxiety disorder, they wouldn’t wonder when you didn’t show up for things or had to leave things early. And you wouldn’t worry about them. They’d understand. They’d feel better and you’d feel better.” He held up his hands and shook his head, like he was mad at himself for something. “You know what? Never mind. It’s none of my business.”

I let out a frustrated breath. “No. You’re right. I’ll tell them.”

“Now you’re just saying that because you think I’m mad.”

“Are you?”

“It doesn’t matter, Autumn.” He put his hands on my cheeks. His hands were freezing. “Figure out what you think.” His eyes went back and forth between mine. My temperature seemed to rise a couple degrees. “Figure out what you want,” he said again, softer.

I was caught off guard by the compliment. “Thanks.”

“I’m serious. Is that what you’re thinking for college? Photography?”

“No. Not at all. It’s too . . .”

“Risky?”

“Yes.”

“And what’s wrong with risk? What’s wrong with going after the uncertain choice? The one you haven’t planned to a T.”

“You know what’s wrong with that. It would stress me out too much. I need security.”

“Because you’re worried, or because you have somewhere you need to be?”

“The first.”

“You worry too much.”

“I walked right by you. Your vision is limited behind that camera.”

I hadn’t seen him at all. My vision was limited behind the camera, focused, uncluttered. That was one of the reasons I liked it. “It wasn’t a spider. It was its web. It was frozen. And amazing. I’ll have to show you how those turned out one of these days.” I stopped. “Like, any day. You should come over to my house. My parents would probably love it.”

“Your parents . . . they sent me a letter.”

I laughed. I had forgotten about that letter. “They did. You’re their hero.”

“I thought I was yours.”

I laughed again. “Yes. You are.”

“You sound almost as sarcastic as I imagined you sounded when I read it.”

“I was mad at you when I wrote it.”

He seemed amused by this thought. “Why?”

“You didn’t want to see me.”

“You like to assume.”

I grabbed the sides of his shirt, surprising myself with the action. He didn’t step away, and the rest of the tension in my shoulders drained down my spine. He snaked one arm around my waist and pulled me into a hug, smashing me against him. The move shocked me and I gasped, but didn’t pull away. Friends hugged, we could hug. The tightness in his shoulders seemed to lessen as we stood there as well.

I looked up at him. His face, only inches away, seemed just as calm as I now felt. He was moving toward me, smelling like sugar, when I blurted out, “But no kissing. Just friends.”

“Friends?”

“No. Friends are attachments, right? So no, we’re distractions. Distracted friends.”

He stopped, his look amused. “Okay.”

Why couldn’t I stop talking? “And distracted friends don’t kiss. Guys get attached when they kiss me.”

A full smile took over his face now. “No kissing, then.” His voice was low and scratchy and I wanted to immediately throw my rule out the window. The only rule I knew would protect me from the arrangement I had just made up.

“Rule number four.”

He laughed a little. “Okay.”

“Just a distraction,” I said, straightening up and backing away from him. I smiled. “A really good one.”

He grabbed hold of my wrist, keeping me from moving farther away. “Just a distraction?”

I nodded. “We can make rule number five ‘No Attachments’ if you’re worried.”