Page 25 of Friends Don't Kiss

“Lemmegrabacuppa,and I’ll drive you back,” Colton says.

That’s sweet. That’sreallysweet. Except I’m still too unsure of myself to spend even a few minutes in the intimate isolation of Colton’s car. I mean, the way he spoke to Eloise? Total internal melt.

“Your coffee’s on me,” I say and walk away from him. That’s okay, right? Least I can do to thank him for working on a Sunday.

I make a beeline for the counter. With a few long strides, Colton is behind me, the warmth in my lower back registering asmaybehis touch? I’m too embarrassed to check. Millie gives me a wide smile, her eyes darting between the two of us. She doesn’t say anything, just waits, as if there was some confusion she was not going to point out or attempt to clarify.

I turn to Colton, the movement bringing my body closer to his and his hand briefly on my hip, before he removes it and shoves it in his pocket. “What are you having?”

“Road to Heaven, extra shot,” he says without missing a beat, talking to me, our gazes briefly locking.

“Two, please,” I say to Millie. Judging by how my cheeks are burning, I must be crimson.

I take a step away from Colton and register him crossing his arms on his chest. I resist looking at him and instead get lost in admiration of the new refillable mugs Millie’s selling. They’re conveniently placed opposite from Colton, in different sizes, colors, and even designs. Grace’s fiancé even started her a collection—that’s how pretty they are.

When we get our orders, I let Colton take his, mumble “thanks again,” pay Millie, and grab my cup. Then I bravely declare, “I’m gonna hang with the girls a little more.” He did offer to drive me back.

He looks disappointed. How weird is that? I’m about to tell him he should hang with us, but I don’t trust my motives yet. Am I being a good friend extending a natural invitation or am I still confused? Better to keep a little distance for now, until my physical reaction to Colton is back to normal.

He brushes my upper arm, a gentle goodbye. “I’ll leave your car keys in your mailbox.”

I go to answer—to thank him again—but he’s already leaving, stopped on his way to the door by Cassandra who tells him something that makes him frown and scratch his head, then answer something I can’t hear.

I go back to my friends and slip onto the couch, feeling a little off-kilter, watching him rub his stubble and finally leave with a thin smile for Cass, his long steps taking him into the cold.

How am I going to heal from the burn Colton’s barely there hand left on my lower back? Then on my hip. And just now on my arm when he grazed it for a casual goodbye.

Now I’m torturing myself. Should I have gone back with him? But for what? Was he expecting that, and that’s why he didn’t bring the keys to Easy Monday? Did he not want me to stop by his place later to pick them up?

Is he doing something today? If yes, what?

Ohgodohgod. Kiara. Full stop. We are not going stalker mode on Colton. You are going to get yourself home with your book boyfriend, who is everything you need and nothing you can’t have, and let the real people in your real life be.

“You sure you’re okay?” Grace says as she drops me off, much later, at Sunrise Farms. She has her brother’s complexion and the shape of his eyes, and it stuns me that I’d never noticed that. “Kiara?” she asks, calling me back to reality. “I heard Colton on the phone with your grams.” She seems to hesitate, then says, “He can be annoyingly nice sometimes. He finds it hard to say no to people. But you can tell him to back off—he won’t break.”

“Yeah-yeah-yeah. Absolutely. No, he knows,” I assure her. “Heknows. He’s just—like you said, too good. I’m—the plan is to tell them we broke up.”

“Oh good,” Grace says.

“Of course. Just giving it a few days.”

She squints at me but says nothing.

“Umm. Okay.” I go to open the door.

“So what’s wrong?” she asks, totally clueless.

“I think that migraine is coming back,” I lie.

“Oh, I see.” Something tells me she’s not buying it. Still, she adds, “Can I do anything?”

On impulse, I lean over the console to give her a quick hug, taking comfort in her friendship. “I’m good,” I say, blinking away stupid tears. I leave the car before she has time to notice anything.

Later that evening, I’m on book three and the topic of Colton is safely tucked away somewhere I can’t reach, when a soft rap I’d recognize anywhere startles me out of my fantasy of handsome, wholesome billionaires. Three quick, two slow.

I startle and freeze, in no state to interact with who’s behind that door. Maybe he’ll think I’m still out with the girls. For once, the presence of my car in the parking lot doesn’t mean anything.

Other than he fixed it and brought it back to me. On a Sunday.

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