Page 47 of While I’m Still Here

Later is wonderfully convenient because it asks absolutely nothing of you today. Except yesterday a doctor looked at me across a desk and proved that later isn’t a thing, and now Danny is licking something off his thumb.

For fuck's sake.

I look down at my sandwich.

“Enjoying yourself?” My head snaps up. Danny is watching me.

“Very much. Lovely sandwich.”

“You weren't looking at your sandwich.”

“I was thinking.”

His eyebrows rise. “About?”

“Nothing.”

“Interesting.”

“Why?”

“Because you were staring at my mouth while thinking about nothing.”

Heat crawls up my neck. Normally, this is where I tell him to fuck off. Keep the game exactly where it's always been. Instead, I hold his gaze. “Maybe I was.”

That shuts him up. Not for long, obviously. We're dealing with Danny Clarke but long enough to be satisfying.

He puts his phone down. “Careful.”

“Why?”

“You're flirting with me.”

I snort. “I've been flirting with you for nearly three years.”

“Yeah, but normally you panic when I flirt back.”

“I do not panic,” I squeak.

“You absolutely panic,” he laughs.

“I lose interest.”

“Within seconds?”

“Very short attention span.”

Danny grins, but his eyes stay on mine instead of dipping to my chest like it normally does. Prick. “What's changed?” he asks.

I could say cancer, use it as my get-out-of-jail-free card, but I don't because cancer hasn't made Danny attractive. Cancer hasn't invented three years of tension between us. Cancer has only made me notice how much time I've spent doing nothing about things I already wanted.

“Maybe I'm tired of waiting for some perfect moment to magically appear.”

Danny's smile disappears. For once, he looks completely serious. “Bea.”

“Don’t,” I say, pointing my finger at him. “You've got the face again.”

“What face?”