Page 68 of All's Well that Friends Well

Until I hop up and sit on his desk, crossing my legs and letting my fingers curl lightly over the edge. His head whips up, his eyes narrowing on me as a muscle tics in his jaw.

“I would very much like to kiss you.”

His brows jump in surprise, and then he sighs—I can tell he’sthis closeto pinching the bridge of his nose like he does when he’s exasperated. “Do you say every single thing you think?”

“Yes,” I say with a bob of my head, because it’s mostly true. “You should too.”

He scoffs, but the sound isn’t normal; it’s tense, forced, like he’s trying to be casual.

“What about only with me?” I say quickly, leaning forward. “Just with me. Say everything you think.”

“You don’t want to know everything I think, Juliet,” hesays, leaning back against the chair’s headrest and looking tired. “My mind is a mess.”

“So is mine,” I insist. I shrug and straighten up, swinging my legs where I still sit on the edge of his desk. “We all have messy minds. It’s fine.” I pause. “I want to know,” I tell him. “I want to know the things you think about.” When he starts shaking his head, I go on. “What about for five minutes? Just for five minutes? I’ll set a clock. And you tell me everything you think.”

When he doesn’t say no, I press forward, grabbing my phone and holding it up. “Look, see? I’m setting an alarm. Five minutes.” I wave it in front of him as his eyes zero in on the device. “See?” Then I set it down next to me on the desk. “Now tell me what you think.”

His jaw works for a second as he stares at me, and even though his expression is blank, I can see the wheels turning in his brain. Then he sighs. “Five minutes,” he finally says. “No more.”

And I’m not quite able to hold back my smile, the excitement that bubbles up in me. “Absolutely,” I say, nodding quickly. “Not a second longer.” I pause and lean forward. “So?”

He drops his gaze back to the papers on his desk. “So what?”

“So,” I say. He’s going to make this difficult, which is fine; I didn’t expect otherwise. “Do you like me?”

His body stills, and I hold up one finger.

“Everything you’re thinking,” I remind him. “You agreed.”

When he answers, his voice is heavy. “I envy you,” he says, his eyes still hovering over the desktop. “Everythingabout you flows outward. I don’t know how to be like that anymore.”

I wait for him to go on.

“And I want to protect you,” he says when he finally speaks again. “You make yourself vulnerable. You wear your heart on your sleeve. People will hurt you. Take advantage of you.”

I nod slowly as something jubilant tries to rise in my chest. “So…you like me.”

His gaze swings up to mine. “That’s not what I said.”

I raise my brows at him, a silent invitation for him to explain. He hesitates, his jaw ticking, and then he says,

“There are things about you I like, I guess.”

“What things?” I say, leaning closer and smiling.

“I don’t—I don’t know,” he says with a frown. He waves me away, and I pout, straightening back up. “I haven’t given it a ton of thought.”

“You should,” I say earnestly. I’m practically bouncing in place. “You should think about it right now.” Then I shrug. “Because I know exactly what I like about you.”

Something shutters behind his eyes, like he’s pushing away the possibility that there are things about him worth liking.

But he should know. He should know all the good qualities he has. “You’re honest and upright,” I say. “You’re straightforward. You’re strong—there’s something in you that’s wilted, but you keep going anyway.”

His snort now is just as forced as the one earlier. “Wilted?” he says.

“Yes.” I reach out slowly, making sure not to scare him; then, with one finger, I poke his chest right overhis heart. “A flower that’s wilted,” I say. “Right there. One that could bloom again with some water and sunlight.”

His eyes swing from my finger on his chest up to my face, and when our gazes meet, there’s only sadness and bitterness there. “I’m not sure I deserve water and sunshine, Juliet,” he says heavily. “And I’m not sure that flower could ever come back to life.”

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