He chuckles. “I’m not sure I can trust myself right now.”
“But…what if I said I trust you?”
“You trust me?” he asks skeptically.
“Well, no. But I don’t want you to have to sleep on the floor.”
“Why do you want to sleep with someone you don’t trust?”
His question is like a sledgehammer shattering the cracks in my logic.
“Because,” I begin tentatively, “I do trust you tonight. Tomorrow, you’ll have to earn my trust again.”
He laughs then pauses to consider my statement. “Okay,” he says as he finally slides beneath the covers. “You’ve convinced me.”
It dawns on me Ethan just used reverse psychology to basically get me to beg him to sleep with me. I definitely have to keep my guard up with him. He’s playing on a whole different level than I am.
“Goodnight,” I whisper as I turn over to face away from him.
“Goodnight, love.”
I wait in silence for the charcuterie platter I ordered to arrive as Eric, Minka, and Minka’s mother, Ester, discuss the possibility of taking a summer vacation at their lakeside cabin upstate. I barely register anything they’re saying as my mind keeps flashing back to the mortification I felt when I woke up yesterday morning with my arms wrapped around Ethan’s arm like a damn security blanket.
He was a good sport about it. He seemed to accept my explanation about how I normally sleep with a body pillow, so I must have confused his arm for it in the middle of the night. But I could still see the seed of doubt in his eyes. In the end, I decided it best to pretend my insides weren’t writhing with embarrassment as he was taking the piss out of me, as he called it.
I was grateful he gave me the rest of the day off yesterday, so I didn’t have to see him after that awkward car ride. And I wasn’t scheduled to work today. I thought the time away would lessen the dread of going back to Forked, but somehow the dread mixed with the unmistakable pining has only made it worse.
The truth is, I loved waking up with him in my arms, even if it was just one of his limbs.
“Alice?” Eric’s voice breaks me out of my reverie.
“Yes?”
He smiles as he holds up a piece of bruschetta. “You should try this stuff. It’s really good.”
I take the bruschetta from him and pop the whole thing in my mouth, savoring the satisfying crunch and the slightly sweet topping. “Mmm,” I murmur as I nod my head.
His eyes light up. “What kind of stuff is that on top of the bread?”
Without hesitation, I reply, “It’s a romesco sauce. It’s not a traditional topping for bruschetta, but this is a tapas restaurant, so…”
“Romesco,” Eric repeats the word, trying it out in his mouth. “What’s in it?”
I can’t help but smile at his eagerness. “Roasted red peppers, almonds, stale bread, olive oil. Maybe a few other things, depending on who makes it.”
“Do you think I can make it with jalapeños instead of red peppers? You know, raise the heat a little?”
I pause, wondering if I should explain the difference in the sweetness and bitterness of red bell peppers and jalapeños, but I decide against it. “You can make it however you want, Eric. That’s the beauty of cooking; it’s an art. It’s subjective.”
His face splits into a broad grin. “Let me see if I have any jalapeños on me,” he says, digging into the front pocket of his jeans.
Minka screws up her face in disgust. “Sir, I know you did not bring a damn jalapeño in your pocket.”
I stifle a laugh. It always amuses me when Minka calls Eric sir. And his ability to turn any meal into a performance is a talent.
Eric sighs as he reaches into his other pocket. “I know it’s in here somewhere.”
“Oh, no, no, no, no, no,” Minka says, shaking her head. “You’ve gone too far now. Bringing jalapeños from home? Have you lost your damn mind?” She turns to her mother for support. “Mom, are you seeing this? You see what I have to deal with?”
Ester shakes her head. “Let the man have his jalapeños. He’s not hurting anyone.”
Eric’s eyes widen as he seems to find what he’s looking for. “Got it!”
Just as Minka pushes her chair out, as if she’s ready to bolt, Eric pulls something out of his pocket that is decidedly not a jalapeño.
Minka’s jaw drops as he falls to one knee in front of her.
My eyes lock on the small, light-blue box resting in the palm of his hand.
“Baby,” he says, looking into her eyes.
Minka stares at the box in complete shock. “What the…”
“Baby, you know I’ve loved you since the moment I laid eyes on you four years ago today,” he begins, and Minka’s eyes begin to tear up. “And you’ve made it very clear that you won’t agree to marry me until I know you well enough to guess how you want to be proposed to.”
I laugh at this piece of information my best friend has never shared with me. Minka appears embarrassed by Eric revealing this private pact they made. But as she looks back and forth a few times between her mother and me, then back to Eric, I have a feeling he may have got this right.
Her gaze settles on me. “Did he ask you how to do this?”
I shake my head adamantly. “I had no idea.”
She turns to her mother, who also proclaims her innocence.
The broad smile Eric wore earlier seems to be tempered by his anxiety now as he opens the box, takes the ring out, and sets the box on the table. “Minka Lorraine Johnson, will you do me the honor of accepting, in front of your best friend and your beautiful mother, this proposal of marriage? Or can you at least tell me if I came close?”
Ester and I laugh, but we quickly collect ourselves as we await
