Page 73 of One Day

He shrugs and holds up half of the cookie for Bekah to take a bite. “I don’t know. I guess I just wanted something familiar,” he says, leaning back into the stool while taking a bite for himself. “Plus, a little bit of growth didn’t hurt anyone, right?”

“It’s hurting my arms right now,” Bekah chimes in, putting the last stroke of dye on his hair before dropping the bowl onto the counter with a sigh. “You need to be shorter.”

“You need a stool.”

She rolls her eyes and leans over, stealing another bite of his cookie before moving towards the sink to peel the black gloves on her hands off. “You’re really going to comment on my height when I’ve spent the last hour dying your hair?” Her eyebrow shoots up in question as she turns the water on to wash her hands.

“It’s not my fault you’re so short,” he says, tossing what’s left of his half of the cookie in his mouth to hide the smile trying to tug at his lips.

“It’s not my fault you're a human bean pole.”

“You’re just mad because you can’t reach the top shelf.”

She lifts her hand to flip him off while reaching for a whole cookie of her own. Her glare is deadly as she takes a bite, and my lips curl up at the sudden shallow tension sloshing at our feet.

“It’s okay, Beks.” I move to her side and wrap her up in my arms, leaning my cheek against her hair. “We love all five feet of you.”

“I’m five-three, and you know it.”

I snicker at the comment, loosening my hold on her to grab another cookie for myself when Reid comes down from the upstairs. He comes to a stop when he spots me. “Didn’t make it to Walker’s?” he asks, moving to grab a cookie at my side.

“His mom showed up,” I say, digging his car keys out of my jean pocket. “Thank you for letting me borrow your truck. I filled the tank up on my way home.”

“Much appreciated.” He accepts the held out keys, tucking them into the front pocket.

“Okay, I’m heading upstairs. I’ve got some work to do,” I say, moving around Reid to head for the stairs. “Evy, I want to see your hair when you’re done.”

“I’ll come up.”

“Thank you,” I sing before heading up the stairs. My room is exactly as I left it, with my bed unmade and my clothes scattered across the floor.

Usually, I’m good about keeping my room clean but lately, between all the time spent working on this project while staying on top of my other classes and using every free ounce of time I do have to be with Walker, keeping my space clean has fallen down the list of importance. It just keeps piling up, and it should bother me.

The thing is, I can’t bring myself to care at this moment, not when everything is hanging on by a thread. I want to exhale the weight that’s slowly been growing in my chest. The closer we get, the clearer it’s becoming to me that Walker and I are inevitable. Not everything makes sense, but him—us—makes all the sense in the world, and I’ve just been too afraid to open my eyes to it.

Picking the clothes off the floor, I toss them into the hamper, struggling to stay up right next to my dresser before settling in at my desk. This design has slowly started to take over my life, and the closer I get to the presentation day, the more at ease I feel about my decision. I knew giving up my shot at working with the university was a risk, one I wasn’t sure I wanted to take, but now, staring at the almost finished product, I know I did something important.

I took a chance on my inspiration, and this feeling of pride that overwhelms my chest makes every second of self-doubt worth it.

A knock at my door pulls my attention away from my computer. “Come in.”

“Hey, Sunny,” Dylan pops his head in with a bright smile. “How’s it going up here?”

“Good,” I say, twisting in my chair after grabbing my phone from my desk. “You actually have perfect timing. I need you to run through this before I finalize the design.”

“You’re done?” he asks, stepping into my room. To no one’s surprise, he has a stack of cookies in his hand because, despite having a strict dietary plan—Dylan has never once been able to say no to cookies, especially chocolate chip.

“Almost,” I say, raising the mouse to the corner of the screen to send the latest version to my phone for him to click through. “I just have to finish up the finalized version, but I wanted you to run through it one more time to make sure it’s flowing nicely.”

“I can do that.” I stand up and pass my phone off to him after turning the screen record on to track his movement for me to review later. He sinks into my abandoned desk chair when I move to minimize the open wireframe on my computer screen. “What do you want me to do?” he asks, leaning back to look at me while dragging his thumb over my screen.

I grab my notebook and pen and sink onto the end of my bed. “I’m going to give you a key feature, and I want you to just try to navigate to it. The whole point of this is for me to figure out if the steps are in a logical position. I want to make it as easy as possible to navigate.”

“What’s my first task?”

My gaze drops to the notebook in my lap as I drag my pen down the checklist of features I need to ensure are easily found. “Let’s start with the athlete login menu.”

“Can do,” he says, leaning forward in his seat. The cookies now stacked up on the edge of my desk, and his forearms rest on his thighs with my phone held between his hands. In a matter of seconds, he’s turning the phone around to show me the black and white login screen.

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