Page 53 of Mac Meyers Needs Me

“I’m always in my element when I’m with you.” His dimple pops. “That sounded like a bad line, but seriously, Fee, we could be peeling potatoes, and I’d be having a good time because I’m with you.” He drops his voice. “Plus seeing you create in real time is like…so hot.”

My heart gets all fluttery. “How long have you liked me?”

He dips his brush in the blue paint. “I’ve always liked you.”

My paint brush freezes mid-air. “Always?”

“Since we started hanging out,” he confirms. “You just never flirted with me, so I assumed you weren’t interested.”

“I didn’t flirt with you because you didn’t flirt with me. At least not until we started fake dating,” Fee says.

“It felt safer then. Expected?” He explains. “I’d been trying to work up the nerve but the timing was always off, and then the kiss happened, and you didn’t say anything, but you didn’t try to avoid me either.”

“I thought maybe it was hockey gala hormones and my cleavage and the drinks and dancing,” I admit.

“It was definitely all those things,” he agrees. “But I also couldn’t stop thinking about kissing you and then I kissed you, and I really, really couldn’t stop thinking about kissing you. And now here we finally are.”

“It’s about time,” I feign exasperation.

“Right?” His dimple pops, and then his expression grows serious. “I can take a long time to get comfortable with people and flirting is my default. By the time I’m ready to make a move, I’ve usually landed in the friend zone.”

“Better than diving in headfirst all the time?” I move to the white paint and begin the process of turning my pussy willows into kitties by giving them eyes and whiskers.

“In some ways, yeah, but in others it means I miss a lot of opportunities.”

“But not this time.”

“No.” Mac reaches across the table and links our pinkies. “Not this time, and I’m really glad about that, Ophelia.”

“Me, too.”

He brings my paint-splattered hand to his lips and kisses my knuckle.

He would be easy to fall for. He’s thoughtful, fun, and like a best friend already. And I know from that one kiss we have chemistry.

We finish our projects and leave them to dry. We’ll come back to fire and glaze them another time.

“Are you hungry?” Mac asks when we step out into the cold winter night. We’re at the point in the season where we’re tired of the cold but still have weeks to go before we see grass.

“I assume you are since hockey players are always bottomless pits,” I tease.

“I was thinking we could get dessert at the coffee shop across the street.” He tips his chin toward the café.

“I’d love that.”

We cross the street and order coffees and cake.

“Talk to me about your people-pleaser ways,” I say once we’re settled at a two-top in the corner.

“Why do you think I’m a people pleaser?”

“You don’t ever want to hurt anyone’s feelings. You don’t like making people feel bad even if it makes you not happy.”

He leans back and blows out a breath. “Wow. Um, I never really looked at it like that, but I guess you’re right.” He digs into his cake but doesn’t bring his fork to his mouth.

I walk back the question. “You don’t have to explain, Mac, especially not if it makes you uncomfortable. I’m just digging around and getting to know you. Sometimes I can be a little intrusive about it. I’ve spent a lot of time in therapy over the past few years, and it makes me pretty introspective.”

“Because you lost your parents?” he asks gently.