Page 97 of The Difference Between

The credits roll and Addie and my mom recap the movie while I pack up her backpack. Out the window, Gavin’s truck pulls into the driveway. I’d usually send her home and watch as she runs across the yard and gets safely inside, but as I listen to her voice and look at the script in my hand and something annoyingly gooey happens in my chest, I offer to walk her the whole way.

“I was thinking,” I tell her, as we climb the steps to their front door. “Dorothy isn’t that great of a role.”

She stares up at me. “Really?”

“Really. And Toto kind of makes the whole story, right?”

There’s that smile. “Toto pulls back the curtain on the Wizard,” she says.

“Right?” I throw my hands up. “I forgot about that. You should definitely be Toto. Dorothy can’t see what’s in front of her own face, you know? Kind of an idiot.”

Her smile falls, just a little. “Will you be mad?”

The fact she asks shrinks me down to two inches. “Never.”

Gavin greets us at the door, mid-scrub of a towel over his head. Freshly showered, his wet hair has a slight curl to it. He’s in a T-shirt—just as fitted as the rest of them—and athletic shorts. No jeans, no boots. His feet are bare. He’s casual Gavin.

I like this version too.

“Hi,” I say, awkward as he gestures for me to come inside.

We step into the living room, and he drapes the towel over his shoulder. To Addie, he says, “I was about to come looking for you.” He knuckles the top of her head. “Worried you were over there getting into trouble, you little glass bubble.”

Addie grins. “We watched Overboard.” Something dawns on her. “I have something for Miss Reese.” She runs into the kitchen, leaving Gavin and I alone. It’s a strange place to be after nearly a week of avoiding him.

I do a quick scan of the room. The house is small—half the size of my condo—and the opposite of updated. Wood paneling covers the walls, and the light fixtures would be deemed criminal by any designer worth their salt.

And yet.

The old bookcases and mismatched furniture and pictures on the walls make it charming. Cozy, even.

Gavin leans against the entryway, arms folded over his chest and one ankle hooked around the other. “You avoiding me?”

I click my tongue. “That doesn’t sound like something I would do.”

It doesn’t.

It also doesn’t change the fact that it’s exactly what I’ve been doing.

“Is it because of the kiss?”

My neck warms but my tone stays blasé. “You called that a kiss?”

“An im-peck-able one, actually.”

He grins—idiot—and I snort a laugh despite myself.

“Well.” He sighs. “If you aren’t avoiding me but you aren’t answering any of my calls or texts, is this your way of getting out of our date?”

I step to a bookcase, slingshotting a challenging look his way. “Did I say that?”

“Haven’t said much of anything.”

I hum but say nothing; there’s nothing to say.

He kissed me, I liked it, I saw his name on a mental balloon then pictured us living in a barndo surrounded by babies belonging to him and not a sperm donor he doesn’t know about.

I refocus on a shelf and skim over a few family photos, pausing at an out-of-place glass sculpture of birds. Most of it’s clear, but when I look close enough, there’s a subtle swirl of colors.