The Intimacy Experiment (The Roommate #2)(83)

He didn’t turn to look at her, even when she leaned far enough over the counter that she knew her cleavage was stunning.

“Okay, so,” she said, ignoring a petulant little sting. “My opening is about how talking about having a future with—or even thinking about a future that depends on—someone else can be really scary.” She let her voice go up a little on the end, a question waiting for confirmation. Also waiting for Ethan to pick up on her casual lead-in to discussing their own trajectory.

He set a pan on the stove and turned on the burner, watching while it click-click-clicked and then ignited. “Mm-hm.”

Apparently subtlety wasn’t gonna cut it here. She stood up, pushed her shoulders back, straightened her top. This conversation wasn’t something to make herself sick over. Not with Ethan. He’d mentioned his desire for marriage and kids—not explicitly with her but not not with her—before their first date. Commitment didn’t scare him. Responsibility didn’t make him want to run.

She scrolled further down, reading the bullet points she’d put together, hanging on to them like rope. “But I’m gonna recommend just going for it. Just saying what you want and seeing if the other person wants the same thing.”

Ethan opened her fridge. “Do you have any butter?”

Naomi lowered her phone. “Probably not,” she said tightly.

He made a dissatisfied noise between his teeth and settled for olive oil. Adding a splash to the pan. His shoulders stretched the seams of his button-down.

Naomi cleared her throat. He wasn’t ignoring her. He was just cooking. For her. It was fine. It was nice. She decided to try another approach.

“You know, I’ve been thinking. We’re almost at the end of the seminar series. We should probably talk about what the next iteration looks like. Might make sense to hand out a preview of a part two syllabus during the final session next week?”

Ethan added the eggs to the pan, their sharp sizzle filling the silence where his answer should have been.

“Ethan?”

Now that the eggs were in the freaking pan, he didn’t have any more excuses not to meet her eyes. He rolled his sleeves higher up on his forearms. “I hadn’t really thought about evolving the program.”

“Oh.” Naomi snuffed a flicker of disappointment. “Well, I thought we could invite guest lecturers. Get some different perspectives. My friend Cass would be great.”

There was something so tight across his face, his jaw stiff. “I’m not sure now is the right time.” He reached for a spatula and poked at their breakfast.

“What do you mean?” Not the right time? But they’d made so much progress . . . and it was working. The seminars were feeding the synagogue, broadening the community, making it richer and more diverse. Sure, they’d had the protesters last week, but so what? Anyone who’d ever stood up for social change met resistance.

They just needed to get more milestones laid out. For . . . for the sake of the class, obviously. Not because she didn’t know how to—for the class. There had to be hundreds of other ports of intimacy to navigate. First holidays. First time one of you got sick. First stretch of long distance.

Just tell me where you wanna go. I’ll go anywhere with you.

Ethan turned down the burner, shook the pan in a way that didn’t look like it did anything. “Well, you know, you might not want to keep doing it. You might be busy with work and the gym and stuff at Endmore Boulevard.”

Naomi reeled back. Was that what this was about? Her going to another synagogue? But he’d been fine with it. Hadn’t she explained why she wanted to keep that part of her life separate for a while? And it wasn’t as if she wasn’t at Beth Elohim all the time. She went to stand next to the stovetop so he couldn’t keep turning his back on her. On this conversation.

“Ethan, have you thought about what you want? In terms of our relationship?”

She shouldn’t have said it like that. A non sequitur. Charged. It was stupid to try to have this conversation right now. When they didn’t really have time before work, and besides, they hadn’t even been dating that long, and everything was going so well. Better than well. The sex was amazing. She got a little dizzy thinking about it.

He didn’t answer while he took down two plates from her cabinets. Didn’t answer while he divided the eggs and transferred them from the pan. Handed her the one that held slightly more. “I . . . I have thought about that, yes.”

They didn’t have forks. Naomi pulled out the silverware drawer, handed him one, and waited.

She didn’t want to say, “Well . . .” or “And . . .” but she could tell her body language did it anyway.

Ethan put down his plate. He crossed his arms. “You make me so happy.” His smile came out all wrong.

“You make me so happy too,” she said quietly, stabbing her eggs in a way that meant they could let the conversation die there. Since he obviously didn’t want to keep talking about this right now. Maybe didn’t want to talk about it in general.

Naomi swallowed her first bite. The eggs were good. Surprisingly light and fluffy.

They needed salt.

For some ridiculous reason she felt like crying.

It didn’t make sense, she thought as Ethan poured them both coffee. When Jocelyn, who was just as sweet, just as good as Ethan, who Naomi had loved in so many similar ways, had offered her always, Naomi had run.