Page 70 of The Art of Catching Feelings

She followed him from room to room as he showed her the dining area with the concrete table monstrosity, the bathroom, the spare room where he kept a stationary bike and some weights, his bedroom. Her gaze seemed to take in every detail of that last one, even though she only lingered in the doorway without coming all the way in. He tried to see it through her eyes. It probably looked really plain, with not much more personality than in the hotel rooms they’d been in over the past month. He’d left a pile of his stuff on the dresser—his wallet, his keys, his phone. There were a few books on his nightstand that he was still trying to make his way through. He wasn’t the fastest reader. The art was better than a hotel room’s, but it didn’t say much about him, either—he hadn’t picked it.

Her eyes landed on the king-size bed, and suddenly he couldn’t take the silence.

“It came furnished,” he said. “It just seemed easier at the time.”

“It’s nice,” she said. “Much bigger than the shoebox I live in.”

He thought back to what he’d seen of her apartment, that night he’d dropped her off and then the next morning when he’d picked her up. She’d lined her porch with potted plants, and he’d liked that cheerful, homey little touch. His place might be bigger, but something told him that hersfeltbetter.

But she was here now, and he had a meal to hopefully not fuck up. “Make yourself comfortable,” he said. “I’m going to get dinner started.”

THIRTY-ONE

It was strange, to be in his bedroom. Daphne had been low-key avoiding him since they got back from the last road trip, still trying to figure out what to do about the whole double-identity mess. And now she was here, and all she could do was picture him reclining back in that same bed, texting with her.

There were a few books on his nightstand, and she let her tote slide off her shoulder, crossing the room to get a closer look. They were stacked in the opposite way from how she would’ve done it, the top book a heavy hardback covering a slimmer volume and then a book so small she couldn’t see its edges peeking out at all. The hardcover was exactly what she might’ve expected from an athlete—a sports biography that seemed half-journalistic, half-inspirational. Underneath was a book calledThe Tender Land: A Family Love Story, a haunting black-and-white image of a boy in a striped shirt standing in a kitchen on the cover. Daphne went to turn it over, to read the back, but then she saw the book at the bottom of the stack and her heart stopped.

It wasMandyby Julie Edwards. The cover was so familiar to Daphne, she felt like it was engraved on her soul—that swing of chestnut hair, the hat hanging down the girl’s back from a satinyblack ribbon, that vibrant garden carpeted with clover and violets and daffodils.

She was sitting down on his bed, holding the book in her hand, when he came back into the room. “I just put the garlic bread in,” he said. “So maybe a couple minutes. Did you want some wine or anything like that? I can’t promise how well it’ll pair with the meal. I don’t know dick about wine.”

“I have to talk to you,” she said.

He gave her a crooked smile that made her chest clench. “You take your wine seriously.”

“Chris.”

His smile faded, and he came to crouch at her feet, fitting his body between her legs in a way that reminded her of that first night after the elevator kiss. It was hard to believe that had been only a month ago. It felt like a million years had passed since then. It felt like no time at all.

“Before you say anything,” he said. “I just want to say that Iknowthis goes against our deal. I know that we’re breaking our own ground rules here. But we don’t have to overthink it. We have a few days off, we’re both together in the same city, I don’t know about you but I could use the time to decompress. I don’t want to think about the team’s record, about my dad or my brother or a single bad thing in the world. I just want to hang out with you, laugh sometimes, have some fun, the showerhead actually hasgreatpressure, that’s it. Okay? It’s as chill as you want it to be.”

Everything he said seemed to confirm what Layla had told Daphne. The last thing he needed right now was some huge discussion that would derail this break, the rest of the season, who knew.

She smelled something acrid, and it took her a second to realize what it was. “The garlic bread,” she said.

“What?”

She sprang up from the bed. “Chris, the garlic bread is burning.”

“Oh, shit.” He ran back into the kitchen, grabbing the oven mitt off the counter before reaching in to take the bread out. Sure enough, the tops were charred black.

“Did you have the broiler on high?” she asked, finding the button to turn off the oven.

“I thought that’s how you got it crispy on the top but soft on the bottom.”

He started trying to scrape the black bits off the bread, little flakes of char going everywhere, and Daphne couldn’t help but laugh. “I think it’s done for,” she said, wrapping her arms around his waist and giving him a squeeze. He was warm and strong and smelled sogood, and she realized that this was maybe the first time she’d ever made the first move to touch him this way, just a casual embrace out of nowhere. From the way he stilled for a moment, pausing for an almost imperceptible beat before bringing his arm around to rub her back, she felt like he’d noticed it, too. She could hear him swallow as he rested his chin on the top of her head.

“You wanted to talk,” he said.

Right now, that was the last thing she wanted to do. “It’s not important,” she said. “Dinner looks delicious, and I would love a glass of whatever wine you’ve got.”

—

After dinner, they settled in on the couch, and Chris handed Daphne the remote. “I think I have most of the streaming services on here,” he said. “I don’t really know, to be honest. I’m not home that much.”

She’d kind of figured that. The condo was really nice—he’d taken her out to the balcony, to appreciate the view, and the insidewas light and airy and modern and she bet he’d never had to put a mixing bowl under the bathroom sink to catch leaks the way she did at her place. But it didn’t feel verylivedin. The part that felt the mosthimwas the open Battery duffel bag she’d seen on the floor of his bedroom, and that was the same as what he would’ve had in any hotel room.

“You said your dad lives nearby?”

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