Chapter 93 (1/2)

She rests the broom against the counter and leans closer to me to turn on the faucet. Her arm brushes against the fabric of my sweatshirt and I move out of her way.

“I don’t know. I just picture you being some sort of artist.” I run my hand over my hair and little bits of sugar fall onto the floor. “I don’t really know what I’m talking about.”

“You should have taken that off before I swept.” Nora’s fingers wrap around a string from my sweatshirt and I look down, watching her hand.

“Probably,” I say, and she takes a step closer.

I hold my breath.

Her eyes catch mine and she sucks in a quiet breath between her teeth. “Sometimes it feels like you know me more than you should,” she whispers—and I can’t move.

I can’t breathe, or move, or even speak when she’s this close. Even with sugar covering her, she’s so painfully stunning that I can barely look at her.

“Maybe I do,” I tell her, somehow feeling the same.

Truthfully, I barely know anything about her, but maybe it isn’t about knowing the factual things. Maybe it doesn’t matter if I know her mom’s name, or her favorite color. Maybe it doesn’t take years to know people like we assume; maybe the important things are much, much simpler. Maybe it matters more that we see deeper, that we know what kind of friend they are, or that they bake cakes for people they don’t know without being asked.

“You shouldn’t,” she says, still staring up at me.

Without thinking, I take a step closer to her and she closes her eyes.

“Maybe I should.”

I don’t know who I am in this moment. I don’t feel nervous about being so close to such a beautiful woman. I don’t feel like I’m not good enough to be touching her face.