5. Harlow

CHAPTER 5

HARLOW

A fter the stress of the last week, I let myself enjoy Teddy’s tickles and embrace more than is wise. He’s just so huggable. The burrito blanket is snug, and his arms are strong—like armor keeping the world out and creating a warm, safe little place just for us.

But he’s my best friend and friends don’t hug like this. Or, they shouldn’t because if I were to lean my head a little to the left, we’d be within kissing distance.

His gaze flicks to mine. I spot those secret gold nuggets hidden in his brown irises. Treasures I keep to myself. The curl of his trademark carefree, flirty smile takes shape. He cocks his head ever so slightly and I see a question in his expression.

A question I’m afraid to answer because of what it could do to the trust we’ve built as friends.

“It’s getting late.” My voice is more of a husky hush than I mean for it to be—like if I speak too loudly I could disturb the pleasant undercurrent between us.

One I definitely shouldn’t like as much as I do .

“What about the churros?” I try to loosen the blanket bonds.

Teddy laughs and grabs the end. In one swift motion, he unwraps my burrito blanket and I’m free . . . and suddenly cold. “If you wish.”

A shiver riffles through me.

“Tomorrow we’ll fire up that baby—” He points at the fireplace with a churro and then passes one to me.

“And do our annual viewing of The Princess Bride ?”

“If you wish,” he repeats paraphrasing the famous line while wearing that flirty grin.

Just like some couples have a song—which we do, we also have a movie—as friends, just to be clear. We first watched The Princess Bride in high school and were hooked. We’ve been quoting it ever since and practically have all the lines memorized.

Vizzini and Inigo Montoya are prime fodder for our inside jokes.

But first, churros. My teeth sink into the doughnut-like bread wand that’s crispy and coated with cinnamon and sugar on the outside and pillow soft on the inside.

A little moan escapes.

Teddy flits his gaze to me and his eyes flash. “That good?”

“You spoil me.”

Gripping me in a side hug, he says, “That’s ’cos you’re my girl.” As if realizing how this might sound, he’s quick to add, “My Oklahomie, mi amiga . . .”

Something squirms inside because the little invisible current grazes my legs like the water temperature shifting in an ocean, and I’m not sure whether it’s pleasant or if this means there are sharks nearby. To be clear, this is imaginary water. I don’t think I could even stand to wade into the sea ankle-deep. Not even with Teddy by my side.

But he called me his girl earlier too when I told him about the flight. He means it like I’m a girl and his friend. Nothing more. Certainly not his girlfriend.

Licking the cinnamon sugar off my fingers, I say, “It’s probably time to say goodnight.”

Teddy swallows thickly. “Right. Let’s see what kind of accommodations Cagle’s Heart Haven Cabin has to offer.”

Standing back to back, we turn in a circle because it’s a small cabin. Tiny. A real estate agent might generously call it cozy. It’s the kind of place for couples because they intend to share a room—share everything.

“The bathroom is there—” Teddy points with the stub of his churro.

There is only one other door and a closet.

“That means the bedroom is—” I open the door, belatedly realizing I didn’t think through our sleeping arrangements.

We stare at the bed that fills the room with a heart-shaped throw pillow in the middle.

Clearing his throat, Teddy says, “I’ll take the couch.”

“Calling that a couch is being charitable. It’s a loveseat.”

Teddy chuckles. “Chair-itable. Good one.”

“You’re not going to sleep sitting up. You take the bed. I’ll—” I angle my head toward the loveseat.

“But this cabin is your prize?—”

“I entered a dumb raffle and dragged you here. You’re my guest. Take the bed. No arguing.”

He calls from the bedroom, “There’s a couch in here. Looks like it pulls out. ”

I poke my head into the room and see a bed and a couch next to it, but there’s no way it could pull out unless the mattresses stacked on top of each other.

I tip my head from side to side.

“It’s bigger than the love seat.”

He’s right. I can fit on it, but given Teddy’s stature, he’d be squished. I let out a shaky breath because this means we’re bunking in the same room.

Having shut down the conversation, the current between us cools—turns icy. We’re both quiet as we alternate getting ready in the bathroom. I find a spare set of linens and remove the back cushions on the couch. Wearing a cotton PJ set covered in teddy bears and hearts, I climb into my bed for the night.

Teddy fills the doorway to the bedroom and leans against the frame. He wears a loose-waisted pair of flannel pajama bottoms and a well-worn Nebraska Knights T-shirt. A movie Jill and I watched last Christmas comes to mind—the hunky lead guy has nothing on Teddy with his firm muscles, broad shoulders, and that trademark carefree, flirty smile.

“You look cozy.” He opens his mouth like he wants to say more, then turns and flicks off the light, submerging us in darkness that blots out the questions in my eyes, on my tongue. From nearby, the bedding rustles and the mattress springs squeak as he gets comfortable.

“Good night,” I whisper.

“Sleep tight,” he answers softly.

“Thanks,” I say suddenly feeling awkward. We were closer when he had me wrapped in the blanket burrito, but what if I snore . . . or something?

He chuckles. “This place could be featured on one of those tiny home shows. If I reach out my hand, I bet I can touch yours.”

A large, rough palm pats me in the dark, groping around before I grip his pinky with mine.

“Wow. Yeah. This is cozy.”

He adjusts his hand so the tips of our fingers meet and then our hands lace together. Forget cool undercurrents, the only thing that keeps me from freezing solid with shock is the warmth of Teddy’s palm, pressed against mine. My insides tumble, swoop, and flutter.

His hand remains there for a few more moments and then, with a squeeze, he withdraws it.

However, my mind lingers there, doesn’t want to let go of his touch just yet. It carries his invisible hand up the length of my arm. In my imagination, he cups my cheek. I lean into it as our gazes meet in this scenario.

Whoa, whoa, whoa. Brain, what are you thinking?

In my little fantasy, he brushes my skin with his thumb, growing the anticipation between us. I kiss the heel of his hand, which gives him the go-ahead to draw my mouth to his. Our lips graze softly at first. Tiny kisses like this tiny house.

But then his other hand grips the back of my neck, cementing us together in this imaginary kiss. Something inside takes flight, parting the clouds above and even though I’m lying in the dark, it’s like the sun shines bright.

But I don’t shield my eyes.

His lips are perfect against mine with a slight push and a little pull. Our noses brush in this fictional romantic moment as we explore, find a groove, and then shift positions, gaining new ground. I can smell his clean cotton and man scent from here. It fills my nose as I remember to breathe.

As I remember. This. Isn’t. Real.

But what if it were?

I imagine him smiling against my lips—Teddy is always smiling. His long hair would tickle me and I’d giggle. Both of us awash in disbelief, but also relief because this is what we’ve both secretly wanted. Our eyes would meet again and then we’d dive in, deepening the kiss.

When we’d part, his breath would remain smooth because he’s Teddy and is probably a professional kisser in addition to being my laughter dealer.

We don’t talk about his love life, though I assume it’s robust. It’s not an off-limits topic, but he’s a professional athlete, and like other things, I’d rather what he does with women stay in the locker room.

“Are you still awake?” Teddy’s voice floats to me, breaking up the imaginary kiss scene. His tone is the kind of ragged I’d expect to hear when he wakes up in the morning.

“Yeah. You?” I instantly realize how dumb that sounds. “I mean, duh, obviously you are.”

“Whatcha thinking about?” Teddy asks oh-so-innocently.

I could never tell him the seemingly out-of-nowhere fantasy of us kissing that just captured my mind. My cheeks burn as if I were caught.

“Oh, um, that, uh, maybe you were right.”

The bed creaks as he shifts his weight. “About what? Do tell . . .” Curiosity makes him suddenly alert .

“Maybe you were right when you said I’m bold in all areas of my life except when it comes to stuff with my family. What would happen if I disappoint them? Thirty isn’t that far off. I’ve been doing this adulting thing for a while. Kind of have it figured out, but I don’t want to betray my father’s wishes or leave my mother out in the cold.”

“I’d say you’ve done a solid job fulfilling your father’s wishes, but mostly, he’d probably want you to be happy. As for your mom, I think if you talk to her, explain, help her make a plan, and then let her do the adulting, everyone would, well, be happier,” he says encouragingly.

This is not what was going through my naughty little brain, but what if I were a little braver about doing what I want rather than continuing to go through the motions and getting grumpier by the day?

“Thanks for being so honest with me,” I say.

“Of course. That’s what friends are for, right?” he asks, voice slightly clipped. “I mean, we’ve been there for each other through all of life’s twists, turns, and changes.”

“Totally. Our lives change but not our friendship.”

“Yeah, we wouldn’t want that to change,” he says as if trying to convince us both that’s the case.

Did he sense what I was thinking about and is gently reminding me that a romantic relationship between us isn’t wise? He knows me so well and loves me like a friend. That’s how this has to stay. This isn’t one of those scenarios where we’re both experiencing secret unrequited love.

“I think you’d be happier if you did what you want in your life—your professional life, I mean. If you want to continue being a lawyer, great, but on your terms and not because of parental pressure. It’s your life. If there’s someone else—” The bed’s springs squeak abruptly. “I mean some thing else.”

Are we talking about my career or love life? Maybe Teddy was dozing off. “Definitely not Chad-Phoenix. You know me, Teddy. I’m not the kind of girl who dreams about her happily ever after. More like a maybe ever after . All the guys I’ve ever dated have been maybes that turn into noes. So far, no yesses.”

“That’s because you haven’t found the right guy. Could be because you haven’t been looking in the right places.” I can practically see his flirty smirk in the dark.

Wait? What does that mean?

A long, loaded silence stretches between us. Even if Teddy extends his hand, we couldn’t span it.

The quiet is so absolute that I lose track of it and doze off . . .

When I wake up, the first thing I see is a messy heap of light brown hair—in addition to flow, hockey guys also call it salad. Go figure. Teddy is sprawled on the bed mere feet from my sofa nest.

His chest rises and falls with peaceful sleep. One leg pokes out from the covers. His arm extends in my direction, fingers slightly curled.

Until last night, I don’t think we’d ever held hands. Not like that. Not that it lasted long. Something about his touch was tough yet tender. There’s no denying he’s a man with capable hands.

Hands that were all over me in my pre-dream fantasy last night .

Biting my lip, if I stretch my hand out, I could touch his and pick up where I left off.

But best friends don’t do things like kiss.

Not even in their imaginations.