Page 27 of Why Not Both?

I show her, bemused as she gets one and the milk from the fridge, pouring it into the pot with the hot chocolate mix, whisking them together.

“Do you have any chocolate chips, or vanilla, or cinnamon?” she asks.

“No, no, and yes. There.” I point it out and she adds some to the pot. Then we continue working in silence, side-by-side. After a minute, she looks up at me with the sweetest smile and my heart clenches with the desire to take her into my arms and kiss her.

“That smells delicious,” she tells me.

For a second, we stare at each other and I have a sudden vision of doing this with her, working side-by-side, building a partnership. And I want it more than I’ve ever wanted anything. I blink and turn back to the pan with the sandwiches before I do something stupid.

Once we’re done with the food and drinks, I get everything plated and poured and we bring it to the living room, settling on the couch while Cerberus snores in the spot he claimed on the floor. I’d already put the DVD into the player before I left this morning, so I just have to turn everything on, but as we sit, I notice Lis shiver hard.

“You still cold?” I ask.

She shrugs. “I’ll be fine. It just takes me a long time to warm up.”

I jump up and go to my room, grabbing the blanket off my bed. Then I sit in the corner of the couch and hold out my arms. “Come here.”

She looks at me and the blanket for a long time and I can see the debate in her eyes. Part of me wants to reassure her it’s something I would do for a friend. The words would be true. But the intent behind them would be a lie. I want her next to me. I want her back in my arms. Even though it’ll probably kill me.

Chapter 11

Lis

I eye Spencer suspiciously, but he just sits there, patiently waiting for my decision. On the one hand, snuggling with him while watching a movie feels very much like date territory. On the other hand, I’m still cold and he is very warm and I know that blanket is as well. I chew on my lip and then slide over the couch, snuggling into his side. His arm wraps around my shoulders and he tucks the blankets around me. His heat seeps into me, casting away the worst of the chill that had clung to me. I realize I haven’t felt this warm since Monday morning before I told him we couldn’t date.

He hands me a mug of hot chocolate and a plate with my melted Havarti and prosciutto on brioche. I lift the sandwich, Spencer watching me expectantly. I take the first bite and it tastes as delicious as it smells. He’s grilled the bread to a perfect golden brown, the cheese melted around the prosciutto.

“Mm. Spencer this is so good.”

He grins and eats his own. “The secret is to cook it on a low temperature.”

I snort. “Really? Tell me more about the secret to cooking.”

He laughs, his arm tightening around my shoulders, pressing me against him. I’m flooded with the desire that I want to stay here forever, tucked into his side, listening to him laugh.

We finish our sandwiches and he removes the plates, replacing them with the bowl of popcorn, which he sets in his lap before turning on the movie.

“So what is this about?” I ask, taking a sip of hot chocolate.

“I’m not telling you anything. Just go into it blind.”

I look up at him, about to call him a weirdo or a nerd or something, but when he smiles down at me, I lose my breath. I’m all too aware of the fact that I’m wearing his clothes, wrapped in his blanket, and him. He completely surrounds me, and his lips are right there.

I suddenly wish I could go back to Sunday morning and just spend some more time in ignorant bliss. It occurs to me that if I’m wishing, I could wish to go all the way back to Saturday night and not meet him, but just the idea of not having the memories of that night is enough to break my heart.

The movie starts, breaking the moment and I turn back to the television. It’s weird. Spencer quotes a few lines under his breath in time with it, including one that he says with so much sadness I can’t help but turn to him, but he doesn’t look at me as he says it.

“We may meet again in another life, but not again in this one.”

I tell him how much I love the character Aughra and he laughs, a rumbling sound I can feel from my place pressed against his side. We drink our hot chocolates and eat our popcorn, our hands brushing occasionally in the bowl. But just like when he held my hand Sunday morning, the touches feel natural and neither of us flinch away. I pull my feet up onto the couch, and he moves his arm to wrap around my legs, pulling my knees into his lap. It’s so comfortable, I don’t complain, just burrow into the blanket and his warmth and enjoy the movie.

When it’s over, I give him an appraising look.

“This is your comfort movie?” I ask.

He grins at me. “It was one of my mom’s favourites. This one and Labyrinth. The one with David Bowie. Not Pan’s Labyrinth, the Spanish one with the creepy vibes, though that’s a good movie, too. Anyway, we used to watch it together all the time. Whenever she let me choose, I would choose this one.”

“That sounds nice.” I hesitate, noting the past tense and wondering if I should ask about it. I want to know more about him. But I don’t want to pry.

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