Page 103 of Say Yes to the Nemesis

“Don’t you dare pour it like a psycho.”

He snorts, eyes alive with teasing. “So demanding.”

I roll my eyes at him, but I can’t help smiling like an idiot. There’s something so easy and so impossible about sharing breakfast with him like this. So dangerously close to a world where I’m not just tolerated but chosen. The way he’s already tossing the syrup my way, already saving the strawberries for me because he knows I’ll want them later.

This is all a strange dream and Ryan is just a figment of my imagination. If I’m in an insane asylum and hallucinating him, that’s fine. I just don’t want to wake up quite yet.

It’s easy.

Dangerously easy. So easy, there are moments I forget this isn’t normal for us.

Later, we make a fire in the small hearth near the bed, the room flickering in warmth and light. We play cards by the warmth of the fire. I beat him at rummy three times in a row before he accuses me of cheating with a wounded sigh.

“Admit it, Haart,” I say, holding up my winning hand. “You’re just mad you lost.”

“There’s no way you aren’t cheating,” he insists, shuffling the cards again. “Nobody’s that good.”

“My dad would beg to differ.”

Ryan glances up, curiosity flickering in his eyes. I look down at the cards, suddenly focused on organizing them by suit. I don’t tell him I learned from years of playing as a kid. That it’s all muscle memory now, ingrained like a reflex. I can’t lose if I try.

But saying any of that would invite questions about childhoods and families. Things I don’t want to talk about. They might break the spell of this perfect day by reminding us of the real world waiting outside the door.

When it starts getting dark, we wrap up in blankets and end up on the patio, the air cool and the world outside finally nudging its way back into our bubble, the one we’ve been floating in all day. I’m not sure what the time is anymore. I don’t really care. As long as I’m here with him, none of those numbers matter. None of those numbers are real.

He’s quiet.

I’m not used to quiet Ryan. Not really.

“What are you thinking?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. Ryan is uncharacteristically silent. It makes me nervous, as if saying something out loud could puncture the fragile perfection of this evening and send it crashing into reality.

He shrugs, a small, almost uncertain gesture. “Just… this is nice.” His words hang in the air between us, soft and tentative as if he’s testing them out, not quite sure if he trusts them. It’s nice, but it’s also terrifying.

I bite my lip, afraid of what the answer might be but needing to ask anyway.

“Too nice?”

I don’t mean to sound so vulnerable, but I can’t help it. It’s so delicious and unbearable to be this open with him.

He glances my way, eyes searching mine. “That a trick question?”

“No.” The answer is simple, but the feeling behind it definitely isn’t.

We’re both scared. We both have way too much to lose.

There’s a silence, thick and telling. I know neither of us wants to be the first to say what we’re both thinking, what lurks behind this easy intimacy we’ve been pretending feels so natural.

Ryan looks away first, the movement quick and almost defensive. “Nice is dangerous.”

I get it.

We’re both horrible at good things. At letting things be simple and accepting that something warm and rich can last without turning into a mess. At trusting that this isn’t a dream, that we won’t wake up and find out that everything’s fallen apart once again.

“I know what you mean,” I say.

I really do. I’ve spent weeks now wondering if this is only temporary. When will Ryan suddenly decide he’s made a mistake and move on like he always has before? It’s safer to expect that, easier not to give my heart to something that might evaporate or explode without warning. Safer not to end up like the small, dark bruise on my collarbone.

Impermanent.