Here's to Us(What If It's Us #2)(41)

“Oh, I was still in the hallway.” He smiles slightly.

“Well, you’re here now.” I kiss him on the cheek, then rest my head on his shoulder. “Do you even get how much I missed you?”

“Me too.”

And for hours, we pretty much stay like that, tucked up on the couch. I mean, we make out a little, but it’s strictly Disney Channel. We don’t even bring up the possibility of sex. Maybe that’s a waste of precious alone time, but it’s nice. We order pizza, and I take out my contacts and put on glasses. By the time we finish eating, there’s still an hour or so before we’re supposed to meet Ben, but I talk Mikey into heading out early so I can show him Central Park on the way.

Of course, Mikey barely speaks the whole way down Seventy-Fifth Street, so my brain decides to fill the space with continuous word vomit. “There’s an entrance at Seventy-Seventh, I think, if you want to pop in there, or we can just turn back at the Museum of Natural History. It’s right up there.” I point ahead, glancing sideways at Mikey, who smiles vaguely and nods. I take a breath and barrel on. “Did you ever see Night at the Museum? With Ben Stiller?”

“I . . . think so? I don’t remember. I was pretty little.”

“I refused to watch it until like sophomore year of high school, because I knew the whale would be in it, and Mikey, I was so scared of the whale.”

“The whale?”

“Uh, the giant fucking whale hanging down from the ceiling?” I look at him incredulously as we step off the curb, into a crosswalk. “How do you not know about the whale? He’s my nemesis. I’m gonna—okay, you know what, I think it opens at ten tomorrow, maybe? What time’s our show, two?”

Mikey raises his eyebrows. “I don’t want to make you see the scary whale.”

“I would do it. Mikey Mouse, I would do it for you.”

He laughs and then exhales, his shoulders rising and then falling. A moment later, he grabs my hand. I look up at him, startled. We just passed Columbus Avenue, it’s barely sunset, and we’re surrounded by people. Which doesn’t bother me in the slightest—but Mikey?

He squeezes the tips of my fingers. “This okay?”

“Yeah. God. Of course.” I study his profile. “I just. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”

“I don’t.” He draws in a big shaky breath.

“That didn’t sound comfortable.”

Mikey laughs. “No, I’m good. Sorry. Yeah.”

We walk in silence for a moment, our hands still twined together. When we reach Amsterdam Avenue, I nudge him. “That’s my warm-cookie bakery,” I say, pointing to Levain.

“Is that where we’re meeting Ben?”

“Nope. Almost there, though. We’re going to be pretty early.”

He nods quickly, lips pressed together.

“Don’t be nervous!” I laugh a little, tugging him closer. “I promise he’s not scary. You’re going to like him.”

“I know,” Mikey says. “That’s not—yeah. I’m fine.”

“Are you ready to be more than fine?” I tilt my chin. “End of the block, on the right.”

Mikey stares down the street, squinting, and his whole face lights up the moment he sees it. “You’re joking.”

Emack & Bolio’s in white capital letters against a basic green awning. I don’t think I’d have even noticed it if Mikey hadn’t drilled the name into my head. It’s his favorite ice cream place in Boston. His sister and brother-in-law got engaged there, and it’s also where Mikey came out to his brother. When we started talking about summer in Boston, it was the first thing he mentioned.

“I had no idea this was here.” He looks amazed.

We’re almost thirty minutes early, so we settle onto a bench near the front of the shop. Mikey’s gone back to being quiet, and I can’t quite get my head around his mood tonight. I don’t think he’s still upset about Ben. I mean, a minute ago, he was practically giddy over the Emack & Bolio’s reveal—not to mention the unprecedented public hand-holding on the way here. But somehow our hands came apart in the transition from sidewalk to bench, and Mikey definitely made a point to leave a few inches of space between us.

Now he keeps stealing glances at me, almost like we’re strangers checking each other out at a dorm party. But every time I try to catch his gaze, he looks abruptly away.

“Mikey Mouse,” I say finally. “I can’t tell if you’re okay.”

“I love you,” he blurts.

I just stare at him, stunned.

“God. Sorry, I’m—” He exhales. “I’ve been working up the nerve the whole way here. I feel so—”

“Oh my God. Mikey. Don’t be—don’t be sorry, okay?” I press my hand to my chest, like it will help me catch my breath. I can hardly tell my thoughts apart from my heartbeats. He loves me. Loves me. Loves. Me. Mikey, who turns red whenever I kiss him. Mikey, whose Valentine’s Day gift was filling my car with gas. Mikey, who took the train in from Boston to see me. Mikey loves me.

My brain can’t hold the thought.

He closes his eyes and opens them again—and suddenly his face sort of freezes.

“I think Ben’s here,” he says softly.