Page 36 of No Room in the Inn
It’s not a request. It’s a demand.
“Sarah—”
“No. No, Willow. Look—you will not deprive me of this information. I am a single mother, okay? I have not been on a date in two years. You, meanwhile, are living with a sexy Santa Claus! Do you know how crazy that story sounds—you living with Hot Santa? So you will tell me everything, and you will do itright now.”
“All right!” I say quickly, because by now I’m a little worried that her blood pressure is going to skyrocket or something. She clearly has very strong feelings about this. Plus, her logic has not gone unappreciated—I know she’s just trying to play the sympathy card, but the fact is, she reallyhasn’tbeen on a date in two years. And I am sort of living a crazy existence right now. She’s my best friend; it’s in the contract somewhere that we tell each other any and all crazy stories. “All right,” I say again. “I’ll tell you. It’s just not that big of a deal, that’s all.”
“I don’t care,” Sarah says. “Tell me.”
“Okay. Well, he’s just sort of…flirtatious sometimes,” I say, absently twirling my hair as I speak.
“Flirtatious,” Sarah repeats, her voice flat. “That’s it? Come on, Willow! Give me more than that!”
“Okay, okay!” I say, finally relenting. I’ll tell her everything. It would be good to get her thoughts, anyway. “He smells like masculinity embodied, and he’s really attractive, and he has little to no regard for my personal space.” I hesitate, then add quickly, “I mean, he’s not pushy about it; like if I genuinely asked him to back off, I think he would.” This is important to clarify, because Sarah’s demon spawn ex had a problem with her personal space, but backing off was never in his repertoire. “If I asked him to back off, I think he would,” I repeat. “But…”
“But you haven’t asked him to back off,” Sarah says. “Because you like it!” Her voice is half accusatory, half excited.
“I don’t know if I like it!” I say. “I don’t know if I like him. Half the time I do, and the other half I want to strangle him.”
“Willow,” Sarah says, and she suddenly sounds very serious, very businesslike. “Have youkissed?”
“What?” I splutter. I shake my head before I realize she can’t see me. “No. No.” I hesitate. “But…”
“But?”
“But I’ve thought about it.” The words fly out all at once, in a rush, and I cover my face with one hand as though to shield myself from Sarah’s reaction. “Just little thoughts!” I add. “Whims, really.”
“Willow!” Sarah says. To my relief she doesn’t sound judgy—just surprised.
“I know!” I say, still twirling my hair nervously. “I know, okay? Wejustmet. Two days ago! It’s crazy to think about kissing him.” I pause. Silence stretches between us for a second, and my fingers stop twirling. I roll over on my side, facing the wall. “Right?” I add.
“I mean,” Sarah says slowly. “It’s not the way you typically operate, but I think you’d be the only one who could actually say if it’s crazy or not.” There’s a beat of silence, and then she goes on. “I assume you guys have…I don’t know. Talked, or whatever? Like, you’re getting along? Getting to know each other a little?”
“I think that’s part of what has my head all confused,” I admit, vaguely studying the patterns in the wallpaper. “We have talked. We’ve sort of been thrown together in all this, and I guess I just…feel like I’ve known him longer than I have, if that makes sense.”
“It does,” Sarah says. She hesitates, then says, “How does he feel about you?”
I snort. “He doesn’t like me. And I don’t like him either,” I add again. “I just”—I think back to his lingering gaze, to the way his thumb stayed just a second longer than it needed to on my lips—“I think he’s attracted to me. Other than that…”
“Of course he’s attracted to you. You’re hot.”
I laugh. “You know, he’s actually pretty nice sometimes. I wasn’t expecting that after I showed up the other evening, but he is.”
“Interesting,” Sarah says. “So he’s pretty nice, but you don’t like him, and he doesn’t like you?”
I shrug. “I know it doesn’t make sense.”
She’s quiet for a second, probably thinking. Then she speaks again. “All right, I’ve made up my mind. I need to meet this guy.”
“You’ll meet him,” I say with a sigh, but I’m smiling.
“Because if he’s as hot as you say he is, I should partake of the beauty as well,” she says.
I laugh at that. “Check your work schedule and get back to me, and I’ll see when he’s working.”
We say our goodbyes and hang up, and I’m left smiling. That’s how my conversations with Sarah usually end: with me smiling. That’s why we’re best friends.
I heave a sigh before sitting up, swinging my legs over the side of the bed and scootching to face the other direction—
