The Hot Mess and the Heartthrob(33)

“She’ll let us know if they get up, right?” Ingrid asks.

I like her rooftop. It has a garden in it, and there are three picnic tables scattered about too, with fairy lights turned on to make it all glow. I touch her lower back and guide her to the nearest seat. “Yep.”

“You really are the world’s worst liar.”

“They won’t get up. Giselle has presence. It scares kids into staying in bed while also reassuring them that they’re safe.”

“That—huh. I actually believe that.” She stifles a yawn and leans back against the table. We’re facing north. Pretty sure we could see Reynolds Park in downtown, or maybe even Duggan Field from here during the day. Probably at night too, if the Fireballs were playing a home game and the stadium lights were on.

I pull the first carton out of my bakery bag and hand it to her. “You know you could tell me to get lost and I’d leave you the cheesecake?”

“Thank you for staying and helping out. You didn’t have to.”

“I have ulterior motives.”

“You want fashion advice, hm?” She wiggles her feet, now clad in slippers that look like hippopotamuses. She’s also bundled in a sweater so I can’t see her breasts jiggle as clearly.

“I want a few more minutes of feeling like a normal person.”

She laughs. “This is normal?”

I hand her a spoon and take the second cheesecake out of the bag. “This is awesome.”

“You’re serious.”

“Keep a secret?”

“My brain is so full, I’ll forget I have it.”

I lift a pinky.

She laughs again.

“C’mon, Ingrid. Pinky promise me you’ll keep a secret. I haven’t even told my family this one.”

“Then why would you tell me?”

“I don’t really want to make out with my brother or my mother.”

“It’s a making-out secret?”

“It is.”

Her amusement fades. “In case the leak in my bookstore ceiling didn’t reinforce what I said… I really don’t have a lot of time—”

“I’m a terrible boyfriend, but I’m a damn good friend. And I’d love to walk the line and be the kind of friend who makes out with you.”

She studies me briefly before turning her attention to the cheesecake, leaving my pinky hanging.

My heart spins and teeters. I’ve had my ego bruised. I’ve had my heart broken. I’ve been on top of the world, and I’ve felt my foundation rattle when my head got too big and I lost sight of what was important.

I’m asking her for a quiet, convenient fling. Not a commitment.

But I’m feeling weirdly exposed here as I watch her slide a bite of cheesecake between her lips and contemplate my offer.

Her eyes slide shut, she lifts her chin, and she sinks back, leaning into me. “Oh my god, that’s good,” she breathes. “Is this a bribe? Like a fling bribe? Is that a thing? I haven’t dated in…actually, you don’t need to know how long. Are you sure this is Angelica’s cheesecake? I’ve had her cheesecake before, and this is better.”

“It’s the company.”

She laughs. “You’d be intolerable if you weren’t funny.”

“There’s a very small list of people in the world who’d be that honest with me.”

“You never get hate mail or bad reviews?”

“Not what I meant.”

“This is really good cheesecake. Here. Try this.” She turns and holds her spoon out to me. I hold her gaze as I take it in my mouth, and her eyes go three shades darker.

She kissed me. She’s leaning into me.

This isn’t one-sided.

And it’s not that I’m nearly positive she was the soldier with the sign at my show eight years ago that helped me get my head back on straight, or that she was the woman in my fan mail correcting me for wanting to get my niece and nephew yodeling pickles.

It’s that every extra minute I’m with her, or texting with her, or talking to her, I feel home.

“Good?” she whispers.

I can’t taste it. I’m too full of watching her watch me. “Delicious.”

“Better than normal?”

“Definitely.”

She smiles that shame on you smile that’s getting addictive. “You’ve never had Angelica’s cheesecake, have you?”

“First one that came up on my app.”

“Are you really from Copper Valley?”

“Apparently there are parts I’ve missed.”

Her eyes widen, and she leans in like she’s completely unaware that she’s doing it. “When you look at me like that, I don’t think you’re talking about my neighborhood or the cheesecake.”

“You’re very perceptive.” I brush a crumb off her plump bottom lip. She smells like baby shampoo and caramel and a woman who needs to be kissed.

“How often do you get bored?” she whispers.

The question surprises me. Does she think I’d ghost her after a single date? “Not very.”

“Do you have other friends you make out with?”

“You’d be the first. And only.”