Page 67 of The Problem with Falling
“No, I, I, y-you…” I took a deep inhalation. “Breathtaking,” I pushed out. “You look breathtaking, Weeping Willow.”
Her smile stretched out, growing fuller, and somehow, it made my own lips turn up. It was as if hers had magnetic powers to make my own mouth happy, too. That was a recent newexperience for me. It had been a long time since another’s smile could make me grin.
“You look quite nice yourself, Mr. Grump.” She walked toward me. Each step she took confused my heart. “I have a little something for you.”
She opened her hand to showcase two forest-green cuff links. “I had them made for you.” I studied them. One read ‘Mad’ and the other read ‘Hatter.’ She gestured for me to hold my arms out. I did as she requested. As she began to attach my cuff links, she asked, “Does it happen when you’re nervous? The stuttering?”
“Yes,” I replied. “That, or uncomfortable, or angry.”
“Are you angry right now?”
“No.”
“Are you uncomfortable right now?”
“No.”
She tilted her head up, and that small smirk sat firmly against her full, glossy lips. “So do I make you nervous?”
I paused.
She did.
She smiled bigger.
She knew.
She finished attaching the cuff links, then smoothed her hands over my suit. “Dapper, Mr. Grump. Very, very dapper.”
I nodded once. “Beautiful, Weeping Willow. Very, very beautiful.”
Her cheeks flushed, and she blinked those long, stunning lashes a few times. “Ever since we became friends, you’ve knocked it out of the ballpark with your niceness.”
“It’s a learning curve,” I muttered.
“You seem to be a quick study.”
“I have a good teacher.”
She smiled again, and fuck me, were those butterflies fluttering in my stomach? What. The. Fuck?
Reminder to self: Rip off said butterflies’ wings.
Friendships didn’t come with stomach issues.
Before I could lose myself in her eyes once again, the arrival of Grandma and PaPa coming around to the backyard interrupted us. I knew they had arrived by the cheers from the crowd.
“Shall we?” I asked as I held my arm out toward Willow, my friend—nothing more and nothing less. She linked her arm with mine as a friend—nothing more and nothing less.
“We shall,” she replied.
Rip off those fucking wings, Theo.
We walked to the backyard, and as I looked out, it was a full sea of color. When my eyes met with Grandma and PaPa, my cold heart skipped a few beats. They looked stunning. PaPa was in his chair, but he seemed so happy wearing his olive suit with a purple tie. Grandma looked as if she had just walked the red carpet in Hollywood.
And the way they looked at each other?
That. Was. Love.
