Page 52 of Beachside Kisses With My Best Friend

“I’m okay,” he says again, the grin growing wider. “But if it’s too distracting foryou…”

“What?” I release a garbled laugh as I spray the griddle again and ladle out more batter. “Noooo. It’s fine. I just wantyouto be comfortable.”

“Great.” Aaaaaand he proceeds to stand there some more, shirtless, his manly chest a glowing beacon for my eyes. This is getting ridiculous. “Well, um, would you mind washing the berries and putting both them and the chocolate chips into bowls? I thought we’d do a little pancake bar.” And if he’s at the sink, he’s behind me. Out of sight, out of mind. Problem solved.

“Sure.” He sets down the mail and rounds the counter, taking the bag of chocolate chips and the berries with him, his eyes glittering with amusement. I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks. Fine, maybe he’s onto me, but so what? I can find him attractive. He’s my husband. Fake husband, but husband all the same.

But for how long?

Exactly three hundred-forty-six more days. But who’s counting?

I pull three golden pancakes from the griddle—much better—and add more to cook while cartoons drown out the doubting voice in my head. The sound of rushing water streams in and out of my consciousness as I give all of my focus to the pancakes. Finally, all of the batter is gone, and I’ve got a stack of perfect little pancakes, save the first three I ruined. Grabbing the dirty batter bowl, I turn toward the sink—and the edge of the bowl smacks right into Jordan’s bare chest.

“Oof.” One of his hands reaches out to steady my arm, and the other takes the bowl from me, depositing it into the sink. “You all right?” His thumb skates down my covered forearm to my hand.

Goosebumps are left in its wake.

“Yeah.” I’m frozen at his touch. A shudder works its way up my entire body.

One eyebrow arches, and Jordan reaches for the zipper of the hoodie I’m wearing, which is hanging open, exposing a stained black tank underneath. He clasps the metal ends of the hoodie zipper together and slowly, achingly, runs it upward, all the while keeping his gaze steady on mine. When the zipper’s to the top, he gives the hoodie strings a tiny tug. “There.”

“What…” I swallow. “Jay, what are you doing?” Because suddenly, I have to know. Have to understand if I’m going crazy. If I’m imagining things.

But he just shrugs like it’s nothing and says, “You seemed a little chilly.” Then he steps around me, calls to Ryder, and turns to me with all the innocence in the world. “Ready to eat?”

And all I can do is nod dumbly, more confused than ever.

fifteen

JORDAN

“Jay, what are you doing?”

Marilee’s question echoes in my mind throughout breakfast, where Ryder enthusiastically devours three pancakes drenched in syrup and chocolate while passionately defending Captain America as the superior superhero. He talks for fifteen solid minutes, his eyes sparkling with excitement, and Marilee engages with him wholeheartedly, her laughter bubbling out like sweet sunshine.

But my focus drifts, lost in a web of emotions.

I catch glimpses of the confusion she wears like a lovely pendant—her little smile when I asked if she was ready felt muted, a flicker that didn’t reach her eyes. The slight crease above her brow tells me something is off. She’s wrestling with worries, perhaps even with the unspokensomethingthat simmers between us.

I’ve been trying to heed Mom’s advice: take it slow, don’t scare her off with the force of my feelings. But every day spent asjust friendsgnaws at me. I can sense her shifting too. She might finally see me as more than the boy I used to be—after all, her reaction to me without a shirt was unmistakable.

Before breakfast, because I reallydon’twant to make her uncomfortable, I hastily pulled on a shirt, and I noticed the flicker of relief that washed over her… And I’m not sure what that means. So maybe I’m just as confused as she is.

This is getting stupid, and maybe it’s time to take a leap, to risk everything for a chance at something genuine between us. To make things ultra clear about how I feel about Marilee Moffitt.

After Ryder dashes off to play in his room, I seize my moment, speaking before Marilee can escape the lingering suspense between us. “Hey, about that glamping site I’m checking out next weekend…” I say, knowing that it also happens to be Valentine’s Day, a detail that adds sweet, sticky weight to my invitation.

“Yeah?” She stacks Ryder’s syrupy plate atop hers before reaching for mine.

Instead of handing it over, I get to my feet and grab all three plates. “I got to thinking.” I walk the dishes to the sink, set them on the counter, and flick on the water to warm.

“And?” Marilee follows me into the kitchen.

“I was wondering if you wanted to come along.” After a quick exhale, I continue, my heart galloping at the chance she’ll say no. Reject me. Maybe I need to make it as non-threatening as possible. “I mean, this is a really lucrative opportunity for my business, and I’m hoping it’ll work out, but I really value your opinion. So, if you’re willing…”

At her silence, I turn to find her back to me, standing in front of the kitchen island, hands gripping the counter as if seeking balance. Shoot. Have I upset her somehow?

I turn off the water in the sink and approach her. “Lee?”

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