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Once the popcorn is done and the candies are added in, I carry the bowl and follow her to the couch.
We’re working our way throughTheWalking Dead, and I know of several more series that she’ll find a little frightening just because of the way she snuggles into my side and grips my shirt when the hordes of the dead are threatening the characters.
“Have you made any more progress on the fundraiser?” she asks, her hand brushing mine as we grab for a handful of popcorn.
“I haven’t had much time for any of it. As quiet as the town is, the paperwork and documentation are endless. Hayes offeredto let Harper take over, so at least it’ll get done, but handing the police station’s part over, leaving the fire department in control, seems like bad form when we split the proceeds.”
“I’d offer to help, but I don’t know that I have the time for it either.”
I wrap my arm tighter around her when she gasps at the reanimated woman getting closer to the boy with his leg caught on a vine.
“I know you’re busy. The bakery is your number one priority. It’s just pride keeping me from agreeing.”
“Don’t wait too long,” she warns. “It won’t be fair to Harper if she has to rush to make all the arrangements at the last minute.”
“How opposed are you to taking on the order for the chili supper?”
She scoffs. “Since when do you think I know how to cook?”
“You own—”
“A bakery,” she says, humor in her voice. “How many times have we talked about this? Making a meal and making a cake aren’t even close to being the same thing. I eat at my parents’ house every chance I get for a reason.”
I laugh, nearly missing another opportunity to brush my hand against hers. God, I feel like I’m back in high school again. That guy put himself out there. I took her to the eighth-grade formal, but once we got there, she made sure to tell everyone that we were just friends. I never made a move after that. At the time, she was a little too young. By the time our age difference no longer mattered, I was deep into the friend zone. It didn’t bother me nearly as much back then, but that “zone” has haunted me every single day since she graduated high school.
“Sorry,” I tell her.
“You might want to reach out to Riley Wilson. She has that catering company she’s trying to get off the ground. I betshe’d love to have her name attached to something like that. You probably should be more worried about the fire versus police obstacle course after the way you ate tonight at dinner.”
“Get up,” I tell her, nudging at her side to get her off me. “Let me show you something.”
She looks skeptical when she shifts to the side and looks back at me.
“These abs,” I say, grabbing the hem of my shirt, “are better than any other set in town.”
“What are you doing?” she asks with a sharp laugh as she grabs my hand. “Don’t do that.”
I let my hand fall away. If I were a better man, I wouldn’t relish her hand still on my shirt so much. The redness in her cheeks makes me think of a dozen different ways I could make it brighter.
I clear my throat.
“I’m fit,” I tell her.
“I know you are,” she quickly agrees, placing the popcorn bowl on the table, the sign that she’s ready for the night to end. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“You didn’t,” I assure her, scooting to the edge of the sofa.
I lean in closer to her, pressing my lips to her forehead before standing.
“I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Okay, buddy. See you then.”
As agreed upon, the lock on the door clicks into place the second after it closes.
Buddy.
Never have I ever been so offended by a word.
