Page 91 of Between Here and There

“Better than I thought,” I reply.

Silence ensues, and I hate it. Is this what she meant when she said we should just be friends? I don’t like it at all.

“How was your dinner with Claire?” I ask.

“Oh, it was great!” Her face brightens for a moment. “We decided to set up our own firm—well, Claire’s going to lead since, you know, I’m just the immigrant.” She tacks on an exaggerated eye roll, but there’s an edge to her words that’s impossible to miss.

“Emily.” My voice softens, and she looks at me, her expression wary but open. “You’re not just anything. We both know you’re the brains behind all this.”

She blinks, like she wasn’t expecting that. “Thanks,” she says, her voice quiet now.

The air between us shifts. Her eyes meet mine, and suddenly it’s there again—that electricity, humming between us like a live wire. I don’t know if she feels it too, or if I’m just imagining it, but the way her lips part slightly, like she’s about to speak, makes my chest tighten.

We’re still not talking about what I said at the café. About how I let it slip that I wanted to be more than friends. And maybe that’s for the best. This moment feels delicate, like it could shatter if I pushed too hard.

“You’ll do great with the firm,” I say softly, almost too softly. “I’m proud of you, you know.”

Something flickers across her face—surprise, maybe, or disbelief. She looks down, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. “I don’t hear that often,” she murmurs, as if the words weren’t meant for me.

“You should,” I reply, the words hanging between us, heavy with everything I’m not saying.

Her eyes meet mine again, and this time, I can see something sparkle there.

“You know, you always talk about not being the ‘good guy,’” she starts, her voice trembling slightly. “About how you’re not the kind of guy people should depend on. But…” She hesitates, as if searching for the right words. “You’re the kindest person I know. The most reliable person in my life right now. And I just thought you should know that.”

I want to laugh at that, to tell her she’s wrong, but the way she’s looking at me stops me. Instead, I say, “You make it easy.”

She exhales a quiet laugh, the tension between us easing just enough to make me think we’re okay. But then she shifts, glancing toward the hallway. “We should get some rest.”

“Yeah,” I say, stepping aside as she moves past me.

But she doesn’t walk away immediately. She pauses in the doorway, her back to me. “Good night, Joshua.”

Her voice is soft, almost hesitant, and I feel the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on my chest.

“Good night, Emily,” I reply, and she disappears into her room, the sound of her door closing behind her echoing in the quiet.

I stand there in the empty living room, staring at the space where she stood just moments ago. My heart is heavy with everything I didn’t say, everything I wanted to say.

The sound of her door closing feels like an ending. Or maybe just a pause. An ellipsis that leaves me waiting, hoping, for what comes next.

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

Emily

Okay, recap. We still haven’t talked about where we stand. I’m still moving out in three days. And I can’t sleep at all tonight. Oh, and I have feelings for him. Real feelings, ones that knock the air out of my system and the logic out of my brains.

So, instead of thinking about the way his eyes crinkle when he laughs for the millionth time, I step out of my room to get a glass of water. As I’m standing in the kitchen, I hear a door open, and Joshua emerges. He’s wearing nothing but gray sweatpants. Just... gray sweatpants. My goodness, is there a shortage of shirts in his closet? Maybe I should get him a set for the holidays. Target has those bundles, you know—the kind where you get five for the price of three.

“Hey,” he says casually as he strides near me. Without missing a beat, he grabs a glass from the counter and pours water from the pitcher I left out. “Thirsty, too?" he asks, his voice low, effortlessly calm.

“Yeah,” I say, as I drink from my glass. I suddenly become hyper aware of whatI’mwearing. Or what I’mnotwearing. Just an oversized shirt and underwear. That’s it.

I sip my water a little faster, my gaze darting around the kitchen as if I’m trying to avoid looking at him, but I can’t help it. He’s right there, standing too close, filling the space with nothing but his presence. I try to focus on my glass, but my peripheral vision betrays me. His throat moves with every gulp, that small bob of his Adam’s apple mesmerizing in a way that makes my pulse flutter.

I should stop. I should stop staring, stop being so aware of every little thing he’s doing. But it’s too late; I’ve already taken too many moments, let myself be too absorbed in him.

Just drink the water, Emily. Don’t make this weird.

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