“It was nice of you to come,” Ian says. “You hungry? Came up to let Ben know that dinner’s on the table.”
Ben groans as he scoots off the bed. “Let me guess. Casserole?”
Ian shakes his head. “Tate was craving pizza, so we ordered delivery.”
“Thank God.” Ben pulls me up. “Let’s go eat.”
Ben
“Let me get this straight,” Miles says, looking at me and Fallon from across the table. “You blocked each other on social media. You don’t know each other’s phone numbers, so no contact whatsoever. But you’ve met up every year since you were eighteen?”
“Crazy, huh?” Fallon says, lowering her glass to the table.
“It’s a little bit like Sleepless in Seattle,” Tate says.
I immediately shake my head. “It’s nothing like that. They only agreed to meet up once.”
“True. It’s like One Day, then. That movie with Anne Hathaway?”
Again, I dismiss her comparison. “That just focuses on one particular day every year, but the two people still interact throughout the year like normal. Fallon and I have no contact.” I don’t know why I’m being so defensive. I think writers just naturally become defensive when their ideas are compared to other ideas, even if it’s done innocently. But mine and Fallon’s story is one-of-a-kind, and I feel somewhat protective of it. Very protective of it, actually.
“When will you stop? Or do you plan on doing this for the rest of your lives?”
Fallon glances at me and smiles. “We stop when we’re twenty-three.”
“Why twenty-three?” Ian asks.
Fallon answers the next few questions being fired at us, so I use the opportunity to excuse myself from the conversation to refill my drink. I lean against the counter and watch all of them interact from the kitchen.
I’m happy she’s here. I feel like having her here somewhat eases the grief everyone is feeling. She wasn’t tied to Kyle in any way, so no one feels forced to walk on eggshells around her. She’s like the breath of fresh air we all needed this week. I know I already thanked her for coming today, but one day I’ll tell her exactly how much it means to me that she showed up.
She glances at me from her chair, and when she sees the small smile on my face, she excuses herself from the table and walks into the kitchen.
My entire body relaxes when her arms slide around my waist. She plants a kiss on my arm and then stifles a yawn.
“You tired?”
She looks up at me and nods. “Yeah. Still on New York time, and it’s after midnight there. You mind if I use your shower before we go to bed?”
I lift my finger to her mouth. “You have something in your teeth.” She bares her teeth and I wipe what looks like a piece of pepper from her tooth. “All gone,” I say, giving her a quick peck on the lips. “And yes, you can use my shower. Let me know if you need assistance.” I wink at her, just as Ian leans against the counter beside us, narrowing his eyes at me.
“Did you just pick something out of her teeth?”
I don’t say anything because I don’t know what he plans to do with my answer.
“I’m being serious,” he says, looking at Fallon now. “Did he just pick something out of your teeth?”
She nods hesitantly.
Ian smirks. “Wow. My brother is in love with you.”
I can feel Fallon freeze against me.
“That’s not awkward at all,” I say sarcastically.
Ian shakes his head with a sly grin. “It’s not awkward, Ben. It’s cute. You’re in love.”
“Stop,” I say to him.
Ian releases a lighthearted laugh, and for once, I don’t mind being picked on by him. It’s the most air that’s been let in this house in two days.
“People don’t do gross things like that unless they’re in love,” Tate says from the table. “It’s a proven fact. It’s on the Internet or something.”
I grab Fallon’s hand and pull her out of the kitchen, away from the teasing. “Good night, guys. Fallon has other pressing hygiene issues I need to assist her with.”
I hear them laughing as we exit the kitchen and walk upstairs together.
To my bedroom.
Where we’ll spend the night.
Together.
In my bed.
It’s tricky knowing I won’t see her for another year, so I have no idea how far she’s willing to take it. I think that would all depend on how far she’s taken it with guys in the past.