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He steps forward, and I anticipate his normal hug. Only when one hand slides across my hip, and the other around the back of my neck, I freeze. Before I know what’s happening, he’s kissing me on the forehead, holding me there for a moment, his fingers flexing where he's grasping my waist. I don’t know what to do, except stand there in complete shock.
“You better get back in there before Teagan burns the place down,” Sander says jokingly. But there’s a look in his eye that I don’t know how to decipher.
Or maybe I do, and I just don’t want to put words to it. Somewhere in the span of the last week, my best friend decided he has the balls to kiss me now.
What in the actual fuck?
I wonder momentarily if it’s too late to cancel that brunch yet.
Sander: Morning beautiful! You want me to swing by and pick you up?
Seriously, this is not the way I want to start today.
I drop my head back and groan toward the ceiling. Why does he have to make everything so awkward? I don’t even want to go to brunch now. He’s just going to hit on me the whole time. But if I don’t, he’ll just continue asking until I finally give in.
I bring the phone back to my face and punch out a quick reply.
Me: No, that’s fine, I still have to get ready. I’ll just meet you there.
Sander: You sure? I can wait.
“Yet you obviously can’t take a hint,” I say under my breath as I respond.
Me: I’m sure. I’ll text you when I’m leaving the house.
Dropping the phone on my stomach, I sigh frustratedly, throwing my arm over my eyes. I’m tempted to just curl back up under the covers. Fake sick for a change.
My conversation with my mom from the other night comes to the forefront of my mind, and I know that she was right. I have to tell Sander how I feel, or rather, how I don’t feel. Sooner rather than later. It’s just going to be working up the courage that’s going to be the difficult part.
I pull up outside the Sunnyside Up diner thirty minutes later, and see that Sander is already inside and seated at our usual booth. We haven’t come here together in nearly a year, I think. It used to be our everyday hangout back in high school.
Making my way down the aisle toward our seats, I rub my sweaty palms on the thighs of my jeans and brace myself as he turns and sees me approaching.
“There’s my girl,” he drawls as he stands to greet me, his warm smile crinkling his bright blue eyes at the corners.
My girl…
Ugh, really? I don’t know what sign he thinks I gave him, but it’s started to piss me off more than anything at this point.
Forcing a smile, I sidestep into his embrace, giving him a quick squeeze before I take my seat across from him.
“I ordered when you texted that you were on your way. I hope that’s okay,” he says over the rim of his coffee cup before taking a sip.
“Yeah,” I shrug, “that’s fine. Not like you don’t know my order by now.”
I draw my feet up and sit crisscross in the booth. Debbie, an older woman who has worked here since Sander and I first started coming, approaches our table and places a mug and bowl full of creamers in front of me.
“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” she smiles down at me warmly, filling the mug with coffee.
My grandparents passed away when I was little, so I never really got many experiences with them, but Debbie always had that grandmotherly quality about her. I didn’t realize how much I’ve missed seeing her face until now.
“Hi,” I say, returning the smile.
“Where on Earth did you disappear off to?” she asks, resting her hand on her hip and the carafe on the table.
“Just work,” I say, picking up one of the small containers of creamer and pealing back the foil seal.
She hums in a way that says she isn’t buying it, but the wink that follows says she’s only joking.
