Page 25

Tealey

If buying homewares with Rad is wrong, then I don’t want to be right.

Leaning against the counter, I set my biscotti next to a whole slew of items the saleslady appears to have talked Rad into buying. The moment we walked into the store for me to check out their selection of mugs, she smelled a sucker.

Riffling through the items, I hold up a garlic press, and ask, “Do you need another one of these?”

He comes around a display table with a blue oven mitt on his hand and a matching apron hanging around his neck. “I already own one?”

“Yes.” I move it to the side. “In the drawer behind the lemon squeezer.”

“I have a lemon squeezer?”

Since he doesn’t even know he has one, maybe he’ll let me take it with me when I move. That is, if the realtor ever calls me back.

The crinkle of his brow is so cute. “You do.” I’ve only lived with him a few weeks, but I’ve done a thorough investigation of his supplies and utensils.

He slides the squeezer across the counter next to the garlic press. “Guess I don’t need two.” Picking up my tin, he asks, “Biscotti, that’s all?”

“Your kitchen is stocked, and I don’t need to buy anything before I move.” Plucking the mitt off his hand, I then reach up. “Duck.” He dips his head, and I remove the apron. “You don’t need these. That’s just spending money to spend money.”

“The marinara stained your shirt last week, so I was actually buying them for you.” My heart gets stuck in my throat, making it hard to swallow. I look down at the set, somehow managing to swallow the sweetness down, and ask, “For me?”

Thumbing over his shoulder, he grins. “If you’d prefer another color . . .”

“No, it’s perfect. Thank you.” I hug them to my chest. “And you picked it, which makes it even better.”

“The blue is pretty. It reminds me of your eyes.”

“Miss?” Holding my tin, the saleslady smiles. “Sixteen dollars and twenty-seven cents.”

But how am I supposed to function like Rad didn’t just drop that compliment on me like it’s nothing? To me, it’s everything.

“Miss?” I look up when the older woman tugs my attention back to her again. “Would you like this gift wrapped?”

“Yes, thank you,” I reply, taking a breath that feels needed at the moment and lift on my toes. I point at the bottom paper on the dowel. “Pink, please.”

The more time Rad and I spend together, the more our comfort level grows. Less than a month ago, he felt like a stranger in many ways as he did a friend in others. Now, we’re shopping together like a married couple.

Angling toward me, he leans against the counter. “Who are the biscotti for?”

“Your mom. I don’t want to arrive empty-handed, and she loves coffee like I do. Voilà—biscotti.”

“She’s looking forward to seeing you.” He turns to the saleslady, and says, “I’ll add it to my total.”

“You don’t have to do that, Rad. She’s hosting all of us for the weekend. I can buy her a gift.”

“It’s all good, Bell. No worries.”

While he faces the counter, I lean against him, looking across a sea of pricey kitchen items. He pats my hip, and I pat his.

Not only has our comfort level grown but also our friendship.

I feel safe with Rad in unexpected ways, like now.

We’re a team and in this together, whatever this is. It’s ours and ours alone.

I sort of love that we’re living this secret life away from the others.

When the items are wrapped and tucked in the bag, I peek around him and get a glimpse of the total before his black card is charged. My eyes practically bug out of my head. He’s spending hundreds on things he doesn’t even know if he needs.

How can he spend all that money without so much as a second thought?

Taking the bag by the handles, he lowers it to his side as we walk toward the door.

Maybe it’s the way his hand just barely braces to my back when he opens the door with the other, or how he makes me feel special every time he looks at me. But then I ask, “Why did you buy all that stuff?” He grins sheepishly.

“I’ve enjoyed cooking with you. Figured we could use a few more gadgets to play with.” I’m not sure I’m buying his response.

I think he just likes spending time with me. As if Rad couldn’t get sweeter. . . he does .

If I’m being honest, he’s dreamy, too.

The street is in the shade of the building as we walk to the restaurant for our weekly meetup with the gang. Rad glances at me. I say, “Thank you for buying the biscotti.”

“My pleasure.”

After thinking about how good it’s been to build on our relationship, I didn’t think his pleasure was going to be what stuck with me, but now I can’t stop thinking about it and wondering how he likes to be pleased. And who’s pleasing him?

Is he meeting someone during the day for a lunchtime rendezvous? Or sneaking out after I go to bed for a midnight quickie?

Most importantly, why do I care?

And do I have a right to care?

I look at his free hand hanging by his side through the corners of my eyes. The heat of his fingertips was still scorching through my satin shirt. What is happening? He barely touched me, but my skin is on fire, wanting to feel the burn one more time.

I think I need to check out a dating app and get myself back out there. Craving human touch, his to be precise , isn’t appropriate. Rad’s my friend, my roomie?—

“It’s just around the corner,” he says.

“What is?”

He chuckles. “The restaurant. What did you think I was talking about?”

Rolling my hand next to my head, I reply, “Sorry. I have a lot on my mind.”

“It’s okay. Want to talk about it?”

“No. Definitely not.” I hate that I snap, but what am I going to say? I’m thinking about you touching me in completely inappropriate and non-platonic ways? Yeah, I don’t think that’d go over well.

“Okay. Noted.” I stop walking. When he stops a few steps ahead of me and looks back, he asks, “What is it?”

“I don’t want you to not ask me questions. I want you to ask, and I want to tell you, but sometimes. . .” I look at my shoes and fidget with the seams of my jeans.

“Sometimes what, Tealey? You can tell me anything.”

Looking up, I sigh heavily. “I know you say that, and I know you mean it, but I don’t know.” I start walking to catch up. “I think I need to talk to Marlow.”

“All right.” He pops out his elbow. “Let’s go, and you can talk to Marlow.”

Why does he always have to be so understanding? If he’d pushed me a little more, I would have confessed everything. But now is clearly not the time, so I slip my arm around his and settle for the physical closeness instead.

“We’re only missing Cammie and Cade,” Jackson says, rubbing his stomach as he rests back in his chair.

Marlow tips her glass back and finishes the last few drops of wine. “I’m starting to think this is how it will be from now on.”

Since it’s something I’ve thought a lot about as well, I say, “I hope not.”

Rad reaches for his glass. “Things are changing. We’re changing. It’s not a bad thing. It’s life evolving.”

With an exhaustive exhale, Marlow’s patience has worn thin.

“Why does life always have to change? If it’s not your father divorcing, it’s Mother’s botched fillers or praising an artist’s work while stroking their ego when you hate the art they make.

Or your friends getting married and losing them for the better part of a year while your other friends are too busy for you. ”

Rad, Jackson, and I stare at her. I think my personal problems need to be put on the back burner. Reaching over, I take her hand and hold it. “We’d never forget about you. I’m sorry if I’ve made you feel that way. There’s been so much going on?—”

“Tealey, I know. It’s just been stressful, but I’ll be fine. I always am.”

Marlow’s gaze lengthens to the front of the restaurant. When she looks at me, she smiles. “I’m lucky to have you guys in my life.”

Jackson says, “We’re the final four.”

I say, “We’ll always have each other.” I find comfort in the exchange of knowing looks. Whatever happens, we will always be there for each other. The restaurant comes back to life around us, invading the moment bonding us together.

The back of my hand grazes the side of Rad’s unwittingly, but I let my own desire to be touched again overwhelm my common senses and leave it just a beat or two longer.

I can place the blame squarely on Rad’s shoulders, his biceps, those sexy forearms, and strong hands.

But he hasn’t crossed any boundaries despite what my body would love to beg him to do.

He’s made me believe that I don’t need to settle for some guy who doesn’t cherish me when I can have a man willing to do anything for me. Not saying that’s Rad. Just saying that he’s given me back my self-confidence.

Looking at my beautiful friend, I’ve learned that even the strongest need reassurance. “I’m only a phone call away, Marlow.”

She nods. “I’m just missing how it used to be.”

It’s probably the first time in adulthood that I’m looking forward to the future more than I enjoy living in the memories. I’m loving the new direction in my life. I take her hand and give it a squeeze since I can’t share the same sentiment.

The night has written its last chapter, and we say our goodbyes. In the back of the taxi, the lights from outside flash across Rad’s face in a myriad of colors when he rolls his head in my direction. “Did you have a good time?”

“I did. You?”

“Yes, but you were too far.”

“Too far from what?”

“Me,” he states.

My breath stops hard in my chest as his words send my thoughts spinning. What does he mean I’m too far? I try to riddle through any reasoning but still can’t land on anything that makes sense, so I say, “I was next to you, not more than two feet.”

Reaching over, he takes my hand and holds it on the seat between us. “Like I said, too far.”

This is confusing, him holding my hand like he’s my boyfriend while my pulse races us home. Pushing the boundaries of our friendship in a new direction? Or me reading too much into it?

Tired of fighting the pull I feel toward him, I squeeze Rad’s hand, and whisper, “Too far.” I scoot across the vinyl seat and lean my head on his shoulder. “This is better.”

Moving our joined hands to his leg, he taps his lap twice, making me wonder if he’s as nervous as I am. His skin is a bit rough, and his grasp firm. The heat between us is causing a chemical change in my body’s makeup. That’s all I can come up with to explain this deep-seated desire to kiss him.

But I don’t.

I can’t.

Not with Rad, though his words from dinner come back around. “It’s life evolving.”

By how close the two of us have become, we’re evolving with it. Only one question remains. Are we evolving as friends or into something more?