Page 79 of Can We Skip to the Good Part?
“Let’s have a reading night. Come to my place. Are you free?” A pause. “I should have led with that. My mom says I was a bossy child, just assuming the other kids would do what I said. I’m working on it.”
“For how long now?” Ella asked with a grin. She was walking circles around the kitchen like a fourteen-year-old missing her girlfriend whom she had just seen the day before.
“About thirty years.”
“So any minute now.”
Max laughed. “What’s the verdict?”
“You’re still doing it!”
“I told you. I’m nothing if not an opportunist, especially when it comes to luring you over here.”
“You mean about tonight? Reading books together? I love the idea. What can I bring? How about popcorn? It’s my first love.”
“Competition from popcorn was a subplot I wasn’t expecting, but now I think I’d very much like popcorn. How would you feel about me whipping up a couple of Cuban sandwiches?”
“Perfect, and I’m an excellent assistant. I can slice those puppies in half like a James Beard-nominated chef. But that’s all I can do. Don’t ask me to actually cook or assemble. I live on cereal.”
“Get over here already.”
“Give me twenty minutes.”
TWENTY-ONE
Read Me Like One of Your Romance Novels
Reading quietly on a couch with Ella, a bowl of buttery popcorn with parmesan between them, and the wind gently rattling the windows was one of the better ways to spend an evening. The romance novel about a grumpy librarian and the sunshiny reader who pulls her out of her shell was good, but, honestly, the chemistry between the characters had nothing on them. Especially tonight. The slight touches throughout the evening, like when Ella had passed behind Max in the kitchen and placed a hand on the small of her back, or when Max rested her hand in Ella’s lap for the first thirty minutes of their read, were both domestically satisfying but also torturous at the same time. Max’s skin tingled around Ella. She became hyper-aware of her body and even more so of Ella’s, and the touching seemed more frequent the more they shared the same space. Eventually, Ella moved the silver popcorn bowl and slid her body up against Max, who wrapped an arm around her as they read. That little move changed everything, slowly dismantling Max’s ability to focus. The scent of Ella’s hair, the press of her skin, the way she slowly turned every page, as if she couldn’t bear to say goodbye to it, had Max losing interest in her book fast.
“What page are you on?” she asked at one point.
“A hundred and eighty-one,” Ella said, not looking up. “What about you?”
“Two ten. You’re catching up.”
Eight minutes later, she peered over at Ella’s book again. “What’s been your favorite part of the book?” She was a kid seeking attention, but couldn’t help it.
“I like the way Avery can’t concentrate on her work when Emma’s in the library. The tension is really trickling in. My favorite part.” She went back to reading, clearly lost in the story.
“Yeah. Tension is rough.”
Another five minutes passed, and Max realized that she’d read the same paragraph eight times without comprehending any of it. She was, however, able to fixate on the way Ella’s hair rested on her shoulder. The smooth column of her neck. She remembered tracing it with her tongue.
“You’re trying to distract me,” Ella said, noticing Max’s gaze. “Because you’re distracted.” She pulled her focus from the page and regarded Max with those big blue Disney eyes.
“No. I’m not. My attention is 100 percent on this novel and everything that’s happening in it. Stop talking to me.”
Ella gasped in exaggerated fashion, but Max was too busy rereading the paragraph for the ninth time and making sure to look riveted while she did it. Ella didn’t seem to care and calmly took the book from Max, placed it on the table, and slid onto her lap. Oh. This was so much better than she’d planned. What had she done to deserve this, because she’d write it down.
“What if I want to talk to you?” Ella asked.
She met Ella’s dancing eyes and eased into a lazy grin. “Then maybe that could be arranged.”
Ella’s gaze dropped to her lips, and a ripple of anticipation tiptoed through Max’s midsection. “What if I wanted to kiss you?”
“I would probably be at your mercy.”
“Say less.”
