Page 35 of Drawn Together
“That’s the thing, Fletcher. I like being a person in your life who you don’t have to overanalyze how you speak to. I want you to say everything you’re thinking. I’m glad to be there for that. But I don’t think I want to be someone you kiss without thinking.”
“What do you want to be?”
“I…don’t know. I like what we have. I like our book clubs and movie nights, and I like going to dinner with your friends…”
“They’re your friends, too.”
“I like all that. And I don’t want to mess that up. I’ve been down this road before, and trust me, it’s not worth it to ruin everything that’s perfect over. Do you not get that?”
He sighs. “How honest do you want me to be here?”
“As honest as you always are with me.”
“Alright. You said you wanted me to forget the kiss. I tried. I really did, Flora. But every time I’m in a room with you since that first night I kissed you, all I can think about is how your lips felt against mine.
And God,” he curses to the ground, pinching the bridge of his nose just below his glasses, “I can still taste you.”
I suck in a breath, shaky and drawn out.
I know. I want to say. I know, because every time I close my eyes, I go back to him and me against those steps with his hands at my jaw and mine at his chest. How he dipped low for me so I wouldn’t have to stretch up for him.
How slow and sweet and tender he is when his own enthusiasm lies right behind that wall of restraint.
I know he can taste me, because since that first kiss he gave me, all I’ve consumed is him—his smell, his touch, and his taste.
“I like what we have, too,” Fletcher whispers, stretching his legs so our feet bump and I’m forced to look up at him. “I’m not trying to force you into anything, really. It’s a crush. I’ll get over it.”
“A crush?” It feels like the word doesn’t even exist right now. Like, it’s just a bunch of garbled letters to make a random noise.
Fletcher smiles—gentle, boyish—that same wobbly one he gave me in the closet. “It’s okay, Flora. I’m still me, and you’re still you. My infatuation doesn’t have to change anything.”
“And if I say I like you, too? That it’s the same for me?”
“Then, I think we—”
“Hello? Hello? Is anyone in there?” a voice shouts from the speaker, and we both look up.
“Uh, yes, we’re still here,” Fletcher calls back, before mumbling, “Kind of hard to go anywhere else.”
“This is NYFD, we are coming to pry the doors open now, okay? Go ahead and step back as far as you can.”
I immediately sling myself against the back wall while Fletcher just slips back one step.
Sure enough, there are grunts and groans of metal being pushed, and the door is pried open to the most glorious view. Five feet up, looking down at us from the floor, is none other than Noah, standing beside five other extremely attractive men in uniform holding up different power tools.
“Is it a requirement to be good looking to work here?” My whisper must be louder than I thought, because Fletcher grumbles something beside me that sounds like ‘Unbelievable.’
Noah smiles at the man next to me. “How do you manage this stuff, Fletch?” It’s the first time I’ve heard someone call him that, and it’s so cute I tuck it in my pocket for safe keeping.
“Seems I’m just lucky.”
“Indeed. Well, let me send down a ladder, and you guys can come right out.”
Noah and his coworkers—my mouth goes a little numb when they introduce themselves and none of the names stick—drop down a ladder through the main entrance and tie it at an angle where we could climb out.
I freeze in place at the thought of slipping. Who knows what floor we got to before it stopped? What if something slipped and we plummeted? What if—
“You nervous?” Noah asks, before turning. “Fletch, it might help if you go—”
“Flora goes first,” Fletcher insists, his hand on my shoulder, guiding me closer to the ladder. “I promise you’ll be fine. I’ll be right behind you the whole time. You know I’d never let anything happen to you.”
And just like that, I believe him.
Within just a couple minutes, we are free, both of us hugging the questionable carpet of floor five and thanking the firefighters repeatedly as they let us know we have unfortunately lost access to our groceries. Fine by me. I didn’t want any reminders of that little box, anyway.
When our hearts are settled, I turn to Fletcher. “Ready to walk down five flights?”
“Ready to walk up six?”
I smile. “My mom hates elevators, says they’re lazy.”
“I think I’m on her side.”
There’s an unspoken air between us from where we last left our conversation, and I don’t know where to go from here.
He’s the one who said it was a crush. He’s the one who said he’d get over it and it’s no big deal, so I should take it as exactly that—a silly circumstance guaranteed to pass us by.
But, when he starts to go down the steps, I just can’t let him go yet.
“Fletcher,” I sigh his name, and he turns back to me. “I do like what we have. And I’d rather not lose it if I can avoid it. So, let’s forget it happened. Like you said, it’s just a crush. We’ll both get over it, right?”
He opens his mouth and shuts it before eventually nodding with a smile. “Right.”