“Uh, no,” I manage to reply, “I’m not sure yet.”
“Hmm,” he hums, leaning forward to rest a hand against the counter, “well, how about Crazy Cotton Candy?”
How about my heart is beating way too fast right now?
“I’m not really a fan,” I say, trying to put some space between us without making it obvious.
“All right…” he trails off, tapping his index finger on top of the counter. “No cotton candy, gotcha. Do you like the fudge one?”
He’s still so close.
He’s too close…
“Yeah, that sounds good!” I blurt out, desperate to get away from him.
I skirt around him and fast-walk over to where my mother is pulling out her wallet.
“Did you pick something, Meg?” she asks, freeing one of her credit cards from its slot. “Everyone else already has.”
“I’ll have the Triple Fudge Brownie in a medium cup,” I tell her, forcing myself not to glance back at Brayden, “that’s the one I want.”
“Okay, honey,” she replies, oblivious to how anxious I’m feeling right now. “Brayden already paid for his…and it’s done, so can you give this to him?”
I stare at the pink-topped ice cream cone that she’s holding out to me. “You want me to—”
“Give it to him, Megan,” she tsks, holding it out even farther. “It’s just ice cream.”
Easy for her to say.
Still, I take the stupid thing from her. “Fine.”
I turn and walk back over to where Brayden is still standing by the case of ice cream, only now he’s on his phone.
“Here,” I say, holding his ice cream cone out for him, “this one’s yours.”
Well, that sounded totally lame.
He looks up from his phone, and then takes the cone from me. “Thanks, Meg.”
“Thanks, Meg.” He says it so casually, as if his fingers didn’t just brush against mine, causing every nerve in my body to completely freak out.
“Sure,” I mutter as he saunters over to the table that Dad, Hailee, and Kyle are sitting at. “No problem.”
Except, you know, I can’t seem to keep it together whenever I’m around him.
Chapter 17: Typical Brayden
So, bad news.
Mom and Dad said it’s okay for me to “go walking” with Brayden.
You can imagine my disappointment. However, I’m hoping that he somehow forgot about the whole thing. And besides, we never really planned how it was going to even happen. Was he expecting that we’d both just step outside at the same time as the sun started to go down?
It was a bad idea to begin with.
I finish my chores in the kitchen, and just as I’m about to grab a peanut butter cookie from Mom’s bright red cookie jar…I hear the doorbell ring.
Crappppppp.
It might not be him though. It could be anyone. It could be some kid playing “ding-dong ditch” for all I know.
But then the doorbell rings again—which isn’t how you play the game.
“Megan!” Mom hollers from Kyle’s room. “Can you get that, please?”
I go ahead and grab my cookie before putting the lid back on its jar, then I drag my feet to the front door. An unfortunate quick peek through one of the door’s sidelights confirms my worst fear: it’s him.
He’s here.
He didn’t forget.
I take a bite out of the cookie and curse under my breath. “Let’s just get this over with…”
I open the door, then force myself not to ogle his bare arms. Did he really have to put on a muscle tank?
Count your blessings, Megan. At least he didn’t show up shirtless.
My cheeks start to heat up at the thought.
“Hey,” he greets me with a nod, “ready to go?”
Yeah, that’s going to be a no.
Would it be absolutely terrible if I just threw the door shut in his face?
“Is that a peanut butter cookie?”
“It’s mine,” I reply a little too defensively, holding the cookie closer to myself, “and no…I’m not ready yet.”
“I see that now,” he says with a slight laugh, motioning to the purple ankle socks I’m wearing. “Unless you were planning on going walking in your socks.”
Ha. Ha. He’s hilarious. I’m dying from laughter.
“Right,” I state in a dry voice. “Well, I’m going to put my sneakers on, and you can just—”
“Come inside and have a peanut butter cookie?” he suggests, the corner of his mouth tilting up. “Sounds good to me.”
I roll my eyes at that. “Fresh, much?”
“Fresh would be trying to eat your cookie,” he replies, his smirk only growing. “Like this.”
He reaches out to grab the cookies from me, and I turn so I can hold it away from him. “Back off, Knight!”
“So, can I come in then?” he asks, still trying to snatch my cookie. “Or are you just going to give me the rest of your cookie?”
I let out a frustrated groan before stepping aside. “Fine, you can come in!”
Mom would lecture the heck out of me about the importance of “being a good neighbor” if I didn’t let him invade our house.
“Well, since you’re insisting,” he drawls, giving me a wink as he steps inside.
My frustration levels are increasing by the second—just in case anyone was wondering.
I close the front door then walk back to the kitchen so I can get him a stupid cookie, because that’s what good neighbors do.
Surprise, surprise, he trails after me…while humming. Once again, I tell myself that it’s annoying.
I take the cookie jar’s lid off, and then grab one of the smaller cookies for him. Yeah, I’m petty like that.
I almost hand it to him, but after remembering the way his fingers brushed against mine earlier, I decide that setting it on the counter is a better option.
“There’s your cookie,”
