Page 74 of Can We Just Be Happy Now?

But I stand there for five more minutes and he doesn’t reply.

And by the time I crawl into bed two hours later, he still hasn’t said a word.

Chapter forty-four

COOPER

THEN

Cooper, 20; Sophie's 18th birthday

Today has been a blast from the past–and not just because we ate lunch at a ‘50s diner. The second we let our guards down, things between us are perfect. She’s perfect–when she’s not breaking my heart, that is. Today has been the complete opposite of the last time we were here. Instead of ripping apart, we’re reconnecting. It’s something I hoped for but never expected. Even if today only ends in us retrieving our friendship from where it’s been sitting in a dark closet collecting dust, I’ll be happy.

“You ready?” I ask Sophie, laying cash on top of the check and pulling up the Uber app on my phone.

“We can skate back if you want,” she says with hesitancy.

“Nope.” I pop the P as I choose our Uber.

“Thanks, Coop.” The generic nickname always feels different coming from Sophie.

“Do you have plans for the rest of the day?” I slide out from the booth seat, grabbing both our skateboards from under the table and letting Sophie lead the way outside. As we stand on the curb waiting for our Uber, she picks at the fabric of her dress like she’s nervous. I hate that some of her comfort around me has faded. “I don’t have anything going on today, and Troy is staying at Emily’s tonight. So, we can keep hanging out,” I say, in case not having that information is part of her hesitancy. “Unless you want to go home. Don’t feel obligated to stay with me.”

She chews on her lip, looking at me through her eyelashes. This girl is so beautiful. “I want to. If that’s okay?” she asks even though I’ve already invited her over. “I was thinking . . . maybe we could just hang out and get to know each other again.”

We spent most of lunch talking, but it was about surface level things like her new car, job tutoring middle schoolers, how she’s still been volunteering at the library. “Let’s do it.” Thinking about how I don’t know her better than anyone anymore is a situation I want to remedy. I want to know every damn thing I’ve missed over the past two years that has molded Sophie into the girl standing next to me.

The Uber stops next to the curb, the driver confirming it’s me before we slide into the back seat. I scoot her over with my hip until she’s against the window, and I’m in the middle, allowing me to rest our boards against the seat next to me.

After confirming my address, the driver turns up the country radio station loud enough it would be hard to hold a conversation. Seeming to feel the same, Sophie doesn’t speak. She leans her head against my shoulder like she isn’t second guessing herself at all–a completely different vibe than she radiated a few moments ago. I pull my arm from between us to wrap it around her shoulder and she snuggles into me more. God, I missed this feeling, I missed her–thoughts that have been running on repeat through my mind all day.

Two minutes into the ten minute drive back to my house, Sophie pulls back, angling her body toward me. My hand grips the side of her neck, my thumb brushing her cheek without a second thought. Old habits. Her pretty brown eyes search mine as a stream of sunlight filters through the window behind her, making her silhouette glow. I swear this girl is the embodiment of my heart.

My face isn’t more than a few inches from hers. If I leaned in, I could kiss her. I want to kiss her so damn bad, taste her again. Her tongue swipes across her lips. Does she want me to kiss her? I’m struggling to not misread her intentions today and which side of the line she wants to be on.

Without breaking eye contact, she runs her hand against my basketball shorts, picking at the fabric between her fingers. I may not know everything there is to know about Sophie anymore, but I do know what she wants at this moment.

Close enough to feel her breath on my lips and barely keep my eyes locked on hers, I say, “If you let me kiss you, don’t make me stop.” Residual fear and hope battle in my brain as I wait for her to respond.

“Kiss me, Cooper,” she murmurs against my lips then presses into them without giving me a chance to oblige–like she missed me more than I missed her.

My stomach flips, an involuntary groan escapes and I’m fucking floating. God, I missed her so much. The thought runs through my mind yet again. I’d tell her if I could pry myself off her, but I can’t. I tighten my grip on her neck, my fingers threading through her curls and pulling her closer to me as our tongues tangle together. The way we automatically find a heated rhythm you wouldn’t believe it’s been almost two years since we did this. My shirt balls in her fist, and she attempts to tug me closer.

The driver’s not-so-subtle cough pulls me back to reality. Shit, I forgot where we were. Whenever I’m zoned in on Sophie, anything around me tends to blur. The car jerks slightly when we stop, both of us breaking our kiss.

“Thanks, man,” I tell the driver loud enough he’ll hear me over the Kenny Chesney song blaring through the car speakers. Setting our boards on my front lawn, I reach back for Sophie’s hand, helping her out of the car. She closes the door behind her, and before she has time to make another move, I pull her into my arms. She’s not getting away from me this time.

Her lips brush against mine softly, her hands pressing into my chest. I pull back before my lack of self-restraint overpowers the gentleman inside me and I toss her over my shoulder to take to my bed. “Come on.” We each pick up a board to move them to the front porch.

When we get inside, I walk to the fridge. “Squirt?” I ask over my shoulder, louder than necessary considering Sophie is only a step behind me.

“You know I don’t like–”

I cut her off by holding out a Ruby Red for her. She looks at me like I just offered her a flip phone or a Tamagotchi or something else random from our past. “Why do you have this?”

“Better to be prepared and avoid the Squirt debate.” I wink as I crack the top of my original flavor Squirt. My small flicker of hope for Sophie and me reconnecting wasn’t strong enough to purposely keep my fridge stocked for her, but I can’t say pulling the last red can from the back didn’t deliver a boost of serotonin. Still, I say, “Also, the shelf life of soda is like three years,” out of self-preservation–an attempt to not give away that a day hasn’t gone by where I don’t think about her. This entire day feels like a mix of deja vu and a dream and like it’s too good to be true, but I try to push any negative thoughts to the back of my mind.

“I missed your kisses,” Sophie whispers against my lips as she sits with her legs draped over mine on the couch.

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