Page 45 of Rivals to Lovers

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Soon. He would tell her soon. He didn’t want her to think he was stalking her or worry that seeing him in any capacity might damage her relationship with Yuri.

She stood looking out of his window toward the rainy street. He touched a hand to her back lightly, and she turned around. “I’m not sure which side of the bed I’m supposed to get into.”

“I need to be near the door. If there’s a fire,” he said. He realized how strange this sounded and corrected himself. “This is probably neuroticism I picked up in first grade from a visit to a firehouse or something, but the fastest exit in a fire.”

“If the door isn’t hot. Then it’s out the window, right?”

“Right. Touch your hand to the back of it. Not that I wouldn’t save you in a fire. Or—” Here he paused, unsure of how they’d stumbled into such a weird conversation. It was too easy to be too honest with her. “Wouldn’t let you save yourself? God, this got morbid. Sorry.”

She laughed, relieved. “Morbid is fine, and I will be honest: I like sleeping away from the door. Robbers.”

“The extra few seconds to grab something.”

“Oh, definitely this lamp here,” she said, gesturing to one of his solid-bronze table lamps.

“Different kinds of anxiety. I appreciate that.” He slid onto the bed.

She got in next to him, folding the comforter around her legs like a fort. “I don’t trust people who aren’t anxious. I’m serious. If someone is too Zen, I assume they don’t pay attention to things.”

He wanted to fluff her pillow, and that wasn’t even a euphemism for anything. God, he needed to stop it before he really did something that freaked her out. He wanted to take care of her, this damp-haired genius in his bed. He wanted to find out what kind of muffins and birthday cake she preferred. He wanted to know if she grew succulents in her apartment. He wondered what her library holds list looked like, if any of it overlapped with the ten thousand advance copies of novels he hadn’t gotten around to reading lately. Part of him wanted to know about her ex, about what he had done that had made her know he wasn’t a forever guy. He’d never had a partner who he felt nervous might hurt him, but she held all the cards without either of them knowing the full game they were playing.

He woke up with her still in his arms. They’d kicked off the comforter and lay wrapped in only the thin silk sheet. He could see in the morning light the outline of their legs tangled underneath it, the way you couldn’t pick them apart if you tried, but he felt those limbs. He felt her heat against his back and could smell his shampoo in her hair. He slid out to make her breakfast, pressing a kiss to her hair before he left her in bed.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Wes

After dodging Ulla’s calls for more than a week after her announcement, he agreed to have lunch with her in Cobble Hill at a place she’d “discovered” on Smith Street. Only Ulla could get away with claiming to discover something with over a thousand Yelp reviews in hipster central. He’d been talking about everything with Mo, who agreed that having a little time to himself was important for him to process, but she also encouraged him to text Ulla that needing space was his reason for radio silence. After five days, his mother had suggested this place when he reached out again.

The place, when Wes got there, made him think about Mo all over again. “Uptrend Midwest Cuisine” was the fare genre, and lo and behold, there were Tater Tots on the menu. They were artisanal, hand-sculpted potato knurls, but all the same, it made him ache. The wallpaper had the too-conscious kitschy feel of someone’s great-aunt’s kitchen—roosters and red-and-white checker wall borders. The tablecloths, too, werered-and-white checked, and a small wicker basket on each table had folded cloth napkins and mismatched flatware inside. The menu prices were the first thing to tip him off that if this was someone’s aunt’s kitchen, that aunt was paying Cobble Hill rent and not Cedar Rapids.

Ulla ordered the soup—an heirloom tomato bisque with a grilled cheese lid, and after a glance at the menu, Wes chose the Tater Tot casserole. He took a picture of it when it arrived, texting it to Mo when Ulla went to the ladies’ room.

I ordered this and still no one has proposed to me yet?

Did you wink when you ordered?

Ah, I must have done it wrong. What time does your plane leave again?

7 am tomorrow. Still okay if I come to the show tonight?

His heart beat faster at the thought that he’d get to see her at the gallery.Yes and bring a friend if you want.Then he texted her the address.

She hearted the message, but then sent back a thumbs-up emoji. He wondered if mixed emoji messages were the standard text protocol for rivals that fucked.

The casserole was good—corn and carrots and ground bison in a light gravy sauce, all buried underneath a pillow of tots and shredded cheese. The dish came with a side of homemade ketchup (spelledcatsupon the menu). He dipped a fork into the sauce, then scooped up a spoonful of meat and potatoes. Delicious, but not the tastiest thing from the Midwest that he’d had near his mouth lately.

Ulla reseated herself at the table and glanced at her soup, then the casserole. “I’m going to need a walk after this. Heavy food.”

“That’s fine,” he said, not mentioning that the place had been her suggestion. “So, Dad called me the other night and told me the whole story.”

“We’re hardly the first couple to, well, you know.” She didn’t look around, but somewhere, someone in this city would have paid their left arm to get this story.

Wes understood the delicacy of the situation in the same way he knew that secrecy was untenable. Someone, somewhere, would slip and this news would get out. He thought about how he’d told Mo, and maybe he shouldn’t have. “When are you making a public statement?”

“We’re thinking sometime after the summer. You know summer is always a slow news season, and we don’t need to be written about more than need be. I can handle whatever the tabloids spew, but your father—I’d like to keep him from the worst of it.”

“Is there someone else?” He’d been thinking the question for the past week but finally had the courage to ask.