Page 13

Honor

Okay, so I maaaayyy have tricked Wes into a date. I’m not proud of it. I didn’t lie to him. I just invited him to dinner without telling him that I’m evaluating him for potential boyfriend material.

Is that a strange thing to do with your best friend?

Maybe. If I had come straight out and said to him, will you go on a date with me, he’d think I was crazy.

Worse, he’d probably straight up reject me.

After all, we’re best friends, right? We’ve always been best friends.

But maybe the fact that we’ve been best friends all these years is what’s blinding both of us.

I need to see if my attraction to him is real and whether we can be something more than friends.

Having been on several dates recently, I’ll know in an instant if I feel anything even close to a spark.

But the only way I know how to do that is to see him in a different environment than our usual. And for him to see me, too.

And if I feel nothing? Then we’ll just have dinner, and I’ll never say another word about it. But the way my heart races as I wait inside the restaurant, I already know this is going to be different.

I shift on my feet, feeling more nervous than I ever have before. The straps of my wedge sandals bite into my feet, unused as they are to anything other than comfy flats. The discomfort is almost a welcome distraction.

I twist a fold of my skirt between my fingers, debating my choice of outfit.

Is it too obvious? I’m usually a leggings and stretchy dress kind of girl.

This dress is a grown-up dress, with a scoop neck and an A-line structure that gives me the illusion of a waist. I had seen it in the mall a year ago, tried it on, and bought it without having any idea of where I’d ever have the opportunity to wear it.

But now I know: I was saving it for Wes.

“Are you ready to be seated, miss?” the host asks me.

I shake my head. “No, I want to wait for my friend…I mean, my date.” I gulp. Is that weird to call Wes my date? It feels weird.

I check my phone. Wes is late, but no messages await me. Usually, if Wes is going to be late, he texts me. The butterflies explode into panic.

“I’m sure he’ll arrive soon,” the host says with a smile.

I stare at him. He’s trying to reassure me.

Oh, my goodness, he thinks Wes isn’t coming.

What if Wes doesn’t come? My mind spirals.

What if an emergency came up? What if Wes got in an accident on the way here?

I would never forgive myself. Or what if he realized I was asking him on a date and he freaked out?

My finger is on the button to call Wes when I see him jog up. I let out a relieved breath, which catches in my throat as I fully take him in.

Wes strides toward me, looking more like a GQ model on the catwalk than the dork known as my best friend.

His broad shoulders strain against his navy-blue blazer, which is stretched so tight around his biceps, it’s like a second skin.

Underneath, he wears a dress shirt and– gasp –a tie, which I have only seen Wes wear on infrequent celebratory occasions like graduation.

His hair is gelled into a casually messy mop on top and the light scruff across his jaw makes his cheekbones look sharp and angled.

He stops in front of me, and I almost want to look around to see what other lucky girl he’s come for. Me. He’s come for me. I have to force down the sudden zing of excitement.

“Sorry I’m late,” Wes says, running a hand through his hair. “I should have texted. I thought about texting, but then I waited too long to text, and I was driving anyway…” He clears his throat. “I’m sorry.”

I frown at him. Wes is rambling. Wes never rambles. Is Wes…nervous? Almost instantly, my own discomfort lessens. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

Wes stares at me.

“What?” I ask, looking down at myself to see if I accidentally got a stain on my dress.

“You look beautiful.”

“Oh,” I say, heat crawling up my face. He’s looking at me like he’s seeing a sunrise for the first time. “Thank you. You’re, uh, looking pretty good yourself.”

Up close, his outfit looks even better…and tighter. One more breath and Wes is about to hulk out of his clothes. Either he’s gained a lot of muscle or…“Is that the same outfit you wore to prom?”

The redness on his face now matches mine. “Just the jacket. I haven’t had a reason to buy a new one.” He grimaces. “It’s a little tight.”

I take pity on him. “It looks like it’s about to bust a seam. You can take it off if you’d like.”

“Thank goodness.” Wes struggles to get out of it, and I have to help him by tugging it down his arms. Standing so close to him, I can smell a hint of cologne, and I again have the disorienting sense of being with a stranger. Since when does Wes wear cologne?

Wes pulls at his tie to loosen it, then unbuttons the top few buttons, stretching his neck as he takes in a deep breath.

“Better?” I ask, trying to stifle the butterflies in my belly.

“Much better,” he says with a lopsided grin. “You might have just saved my life.”

“You didn’t have to dress up,” I say, looking down. “It’s just me.”

“Yes, I did,” he says, catching my gaze. “Because it’s you.” His unwavering stare and the firmness of his tone make the butterflies in my belly worse. The silence between us feels heavy and meaningful, and I don’t know how to interpret his cryptic comment.

The host thankfully saves us from the awkward moment. “Your table is ready when you are.”

Wes gestures for me to precede him and I follow the host to the table.

Inside, the tables are adorned with crisp white tablecloths and flickering candles.

The low buzz of conversation by the diners mixes with the clink of tableware and the soft sounds of instrumental Italian music.

A waiter passes with dishes that make my mouth water with their scents of bubbling marinara sauce and buttery garlic.

We take a seat as the host hands us menus and tells us the specials. My eyes widen at the prices.

“Dinner’s on me,” Wes says once the waiter leaves with our drink order, as though reading my mind.

“You don’t have to do that. Why would you buy me dinner?”

“You deserve it.”

I purse my lips. “Not that I don’t appreciate a free meal, but you’re being weird.”

“Weird? How?” He frowns but the way he runs his hand through his hair again tells me he’s anxious about something.

“Like suspiciously nice.”

“Suspicious?” Wes asks. “I’m just being a good friend.”

“What if we weren’t friends?” I ask, jumping straight into the deep end.

He blanches. “What do you mean?”

“What if we met now? Do you think we’d be friends now?”

“I’d hope so. Or else I’d be missing out on a very good friend.” He pulls at his collar like his shirt is strangling him.

Being a good friend is not the answer I wanted. “I mean, what if we met on SwipeRight and just started messaging?”

His gaze bounces from mine to the table and back. “What are you accusing me of?”

This time I frown. “I’m not accusing you of anything.”

“Then what’s with the third degree?”

“Do you think we’d date?”

His head whips back. “What are you talking about?”

“If we weren’t friends and we just met on SwipeRight, do you think we would date?” I ask, speaking slowly to enunciate each word.

“I don’t know. Maybe?”

“Maybe?” I ask. Now I am the confused one. How could he honestly not be sure? “We have a million things in common, we like all the same games, we watch the same shows. How can you just say maybe?”

“Are you saying you’d want to date me?” I have his full attention now.

I shift in my seat. It’s the million-dollar question, and yet I’m not quite ready to say it. Making that admission would mean crossing a bridge and I don’t know what awaits me on the other side. “I’m saying we would make sense as a couple.”

“Make sense?” I can’t read his expression.

“Yeah, from a logical perspective. We like hanging out with each other, we know each other’s families and friends, and we have similar interests.”

“You think we should be a couple because we know each other’s family,” he repeats slowly. He’s looking at me like one would look at an alien.

“I didn’t say ‘should’ be a couple,” I say, backtracking since this conversation is obviously not having the positive impact I had hoped. “I said it would make sense. You know, we’re like friends who make a pact to get married by the time they’re thirty if they haven’t found anyone else.”

Something flashes in Wes’s eyes– pain . I swallow hard.

“Let me see if I’m understanding you,” Wes says. “You would want to date me because it’s logical and you’d then marry me because you hadn’t found anyone else by the time you’re thirty.”

I let out an awkward laugh. “Okay, the way you’re saying it makes it sound terrible.”

“I’m just repeating what you said.” He bites the words out and I realize Wes is angry . Wes is never angry at me.

“It didn’t come out right. Just forget I said anything.”

“I don’t think so. I think this is exactly the conversation that we need to have.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, crossing my arms. I sit back in my chair, unsure how to walk myself back out of whatever I said to anger Wes.

“Don’t you think you’re missing a critical ingredient in a relationship?”

“Like what?”

“Like love, Honor!” he says, his voice almost shouting. His hands curl into fists on the table. I’ve never in my life been scared of Wes, but this might be the first moment.

“Shh,” I say, looking around uneasily at the other patrons who are starting to stare at us. “I don’t know why you’re getting so upset. It was just a dumb thing that I said. Forget it.”

“So being in a relationship with me is dumb now?”

“You’re twisting my words,” I say, starting to get angry myself. “Calm down. You’re being ridiculous.”

“I think I’m finally hearing your words for the first time. I just need to know one thing.” He takes a breath, then enunciates each word. “Do. You. Love. Me?”

I frown, uncertain at this change in direction. I’ve clearly missed a turn somewhere. “Where is this coming from?”

“Answer the question.”

What is going on? “Of course I love you, Wes. You’re my best friend.”

That should be the right answer, but Wes huffs a laugh, his face twisting in a bitter expression. What other answer could there be? I spread my hands, pleading with him to return to the Wes that I know. “I don’t know why you’re making such a big deal over this. Did something happen? Are you okay?”

Wes shakes his head. “I don’t want to be your backup plan, Honor. I deserve more than that.”

At that moment, the waiter appears with our drinks. I hold back my retort, my head whirling as I stare at him.

“Ready to order?” the waiter asks.

Wes pulls out his wallet and throws a twenty on the table as he stands. “I’m sorry, but I’m leaving.”

“Wes, don’t do this,” I say, panic flooding me as I realize that whatever has happened in the last ten minutes, it’s far more serious than I realized. “Whatever I said to upset you, I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head. “It’s not your fault. It’s mine.”

“I don’t understand.” Tears gather in my eyes. It feels like we’re breaking up, and yet can you break up with your best friend? “Tell me what’s going on.”

“I have to go. I’m sorry.”

“Wes–” I say, but he turns and leaves.

My head whips around as I take in the wait staff and restaurant diners who are trying to hide their stares. I grab my purse and race after Wes. By the time I reach the parking lot, he’s already opening the door to his car.

“Wes!” I call, racing toward him. “Come on! This doesn’t have to be a big deal! I love you!”

Rather than resolving anything, my words hit him like a blow.

He braces against the frame of his car, his head dropping slightly as he seems to gather himself.

He turns to me, and his expression is as confused and broken as how I feel.

“I think I need a break for a while, Honor. I’ll text you later.

” He gets into his car and shuts the door.

I stand outside, mere feet away, watching him through the glass of his car door window, and never have I felt more distant from him. I watch him drive away before making my way to my own car, my feet feeling like I’m dragging cinderblocks. I sit in my car as tears slip down my face.

What just happened?