Every Little Thing

10

It's two-thirty by the time we walk back to my house, Georgie and Hale preparing to drive each other home and Reed walking until he reaches his own, about five minutes away on foot. I mount the first few steps before turning to them, smiling.

"Thanks, guys," I say.

They all smile back, Hale lifting his hand in means of goodbye, Georgina following suit, and Reed saying,

"No problem. Might want to wash those pajamas, though."

I look down at the now-sandy knees of my pants, shaking my head with a laugh.

"Will do," I say.

"Talk to you tomorrow, Evie," Georgina says, and Hale makes a vague noise of assent before they start down the road, into the darkness. I clear my throat and sheepishly glance up at Reed, who has his hands shoved deep into his pockets, rocking back and forth on his heels.

"So," he says, the beginnings of a smile quirking up the corners of his lips.

"So." I echo, and that makes him chuckle, just a little. His eyes are drawn back to mine as he whispers,

"Have you taken that risk yet?"

I smile, swallowing as I shake my head. A look of what seems like disappointment flickers over his features, and then he nods.

"That's okay. I'll just keep asking until you do."

"I'm holding you to that," I say jokingly, and then notice a leaf—probably from the park—stuck in his tangled, brown mess of hair. Without even thinking, I move down the steps, stopping short when I reach him and saying softly,

"Hold still."

He freezes, and I move my hand to his head, taking the delicate leaf between my fingers and tugging it from his tresses, until it eases out. With a little laugh, I pull back ever-so-slightly, but not enough, because there is such little space between us that I can hear his heartbeat.

His eyes are intense, boring into mine, unwavering. The air is suddenly charged with electricity, and I remember his fingers, just barely brushing mine, teasing, taunting, and all I want to do is—

All of a sudden, Reed lets out a breathy laugh and takes a step back, clearing his throat. Heat infuses my cheeks as I do, too, covering up for my awkwardness by holding up the leaf.

"You had this stuck in your hair," I say, and as his face breaks out into a grin, I begin to feel the discomfort ebb away, "Just thought you'd want it out."

"Thanks," he says, and then turns on his heel, letting out one last, "Goodnight, Evelyn."

"Goodnight," I say, and stand there as he goes, walking down the street before disappearing into the overwhelming darkness that greets him past the lamppost.

And then he's gone. And I'm left imagining what it would have felt like, if I had just leaned in a centimeter more, if he had just waited a second before pulling away.

It would have been a risk, wouldn't it?

Yes, it would have been quite a risk.

________

I don't wake up the next morning until noon, and I'm immediately greeted with a text from Georgina.

Hey! Want to meet us for coffee in twenty?

I bite my lip at the thought. Coffee with Georgina is fine, and I love spending time with her, but coffee with Georgina and Hale may be a stretch. I swallow, preparing to text back that I'm busy, when another message flies in.

Don't freak out - Reed's coming too.

I smile despite myself, partly because Georgie knows me way too well, partly because I get to see Reed again. I reply,

See you there.

Setting my phone down onto my nightstand, I get up and set a timer for ten minutes, in which I am able to shower, change, apply makeup, and walk out the door. I leave a sticky note for my mom, explaining my whereabouts and wishing her a good day at McDonald's (remember to smile!).

Using my trolley pass, I catch an oncoming bus and jump on, smoothing my hair as the world around me begins to spin into a whirlwind of moving color, shutting my eyes allowing myself to breathe.

________

"There she is!" Hale says, smiling as I walk into the local coffee shop, one of many scattered across our part of Atlantic City. Georgie sips from her usual latte, and Reed isn't here yet. I sit down at the large table they've chosen, not quite ready to order.

"How are you guys?" I ask, leaning in on my elbows as Georgie takes another sip and Hale picks at a croissant.

"Good!" she replies, with a wide grin. "I saw the cutest sweater at the boutique down the street—"

"Oh, yeah," Hale interrupts, with a smirk, "The cutest one-hundred-dollar sweater I've ever seen."

Georgina sticks out her tongue at him. "Beauty comes at a price, babe!"

"I could buy a year's worth of clothes with a hundred dollars."

"Only because you dress like a homeless person half of the time."

They both laugh, and my throat constricts as I watch them. Who is this girl, disguised as my best friend Georgina Zhang? And who is Hale Forrester to think that he's able to just come in out of nowhere and sweep her off her feet?

I shake my head, and thank God, that's when Reed walks in.

His coat is wrapped around him tightly, zipped up to his neck. He has a thick, wool beanie jammed atop his head, and is wearing glasses. Reed has glasses?

I smile as he walks towards us, slowly unraveling the jacket from his body and folding it neatly over a chair as he slides into the empty seat next to me.

"Jesus Christ," he says, rubbing his hands together, "It's freezing."

"I know," Hale chimes in, "And it's only the beginning of September. Georgina and I were going to go to the pier and ride the ferris wheel, but it looks like that's canceled."

She bobs her head in agreement, and I turn to Reed, fighting back a smile.

"Nice specs," I deadpan, and he c***s his head to the side with a smile.

"Like them? I picked them out just for you."

"Very trendy. The whole big-frame thing? You look like a Hollywood wannabe."

"Maybe I am," he shoots back, and I laugh in spite of myself. Georgina and Hale have started up their own conversation, and suddenly I'm extremely glad to have Reed here, because we can bounce off of each other like this for hours at a time.

"Want a coffee?" he asks, glancing over at the couple and jabbing his thumb towards the ordering queue behind us.

"Sure," I say, and follow him as he gets up, leading me to the back of the line, where several people are already waiting.

He looks at me out of the corner of his eye, and I see a smug smile tugging up at the corner of his mouth.

"What?" I demand, and he shakes his head.

"Nothing."

"Reed, if you don't—"

"I'm sorry, but did you actually just sit with Georgina and Hale for, like, ten minutes? How on earth did you survive?" he asks, through a laugh, which makes me burst out into an unexpected cackle. I clasp a hand against my mouth, horrified, and he laughs even louder.

"Oh, my God, Evelyn," he gasps, and I smack him.

Per usual, we receive some weird looks, and I feel myself begin to shrink under the judgmental glances that are sent this way and that. But then I see Reed's face, completely carefree and comfortable, and the fist inside the pit of my stomach somewhat unclenches.

"Whatever," I mutter, and he just looks at me, eyes wide with glee.

"I didn't know humans were even capable of making that noise."

"Shut up!" I say, although I'm just pretending to be offended. To be honest, I'd be making fun of that laugh if I were him. Besides, I quite enjoy this friendly joking that we've decided to base our friendship on.

We're friends, right?

The thought, unsolicited and unexpected, makes me nearly jump out of my skin. Are we even friends? Or are we still just French partners?

I shove the thought from my mind entirely, willing myself not to think about it. I can't even bring myself to think of it.

Instead, I listen to him and laugh along with him until we're at the front of the line and ordering.

"Small coffee, please," I say, and the barista smiles, turning to Reed. He pauses, glancing up at the menu and then back at her, saying,

"What do you suggest for someone who doesn't really have coffee often, but yet still wants to appear sophisticated and drink something with coffee in it, despite disliking the general taste?"

I look over at him, surprised, but the barista just laughs.

"That's called a mocha," she says, smiling at him, "And the order is for—?"

I hear the flirtatious note in her voice, and my gut twists, but I don't do anything. Reed doesn't seem to notice, because he says,

"Reed. Nice to meet you."

"You, too," she says, with a too-wide smile, "Hope to see you around more often, Reed."

Then he seems to get it. Instantly, without warning, his arm is around my shoulders and he nods, saying,

"Sure thing. Thanks for helping us out."

The girl's eyes flicker between us, and her smile seems fake now as she tells us that our orders will be out in a bit, and wishes us a nice day. Reed doesn't drop his arm until we're only a few steps away from our table, but Georgie and Hale are scrolling through their phones, so they don't seem to notice.

"What was that for?" I ask him, out of the corner of my mouth, and he grimaces.

"Sorry. I just hate flirting. That seemed like a surefire way to put an end to it." He pauses then, and laughs, "Oh, God, I sound like such a tool."

"No," I say, because he doesn't, "But why do you hate it? You're, like, the king of flirting."

He glances up at me, brow furrowed. "What makes you say that?"

His tone isn't defensive, but it makes me uncomfortable nevertheless, because for some reason I thought he'd already come to terms with the way he flirts with practically everybody, and that he knew it. Instead, he seems confused.

"I don't know," I say, clearing my throat, "You just—you have this way of making everyone feel—special, I guess."

He laughs, and it sounds disbelieving.

"You do!" I insist. "It's like, when you talk to me, I feel like I'm the only person in the entire universe that has ever mattered. And then you're gone, and the feeling leaves, and I guess—you just have that effect on other people, too."

His eyes soften, and suddenly I'm filled with embarrassment. Thankfully, that's when his name is called from the barista stand, and I get up to grab our coffees. He follows suit.

We each grab our cups, but Reed's hand rests on the crook of my arm. From behind his glass lenses, his eyes narrow.

"Hey," he says, gently, "I don't want you to think like you're only validated when I talk to you."

"I don't," I say immediately, "It's just—"

"I talk to you because I want to. Because you're my friend. Not to mess with your head or anything. I—I didn't even know I did that."

"You don't," I murmur, shaking my head, "I'm sorry; that came out way more complex than I meant it to."

"Seriously, Evelyn." he says, and his tone is low and firm, "If I do that to you—if I make you feel inferior or if you feel like you have to have my attention to feel important, then that's my fault, and I'll do anything—"

"Reed." I say, clasping a hand over his own, "Don't worry about it. Seriously. I'm sorry; I didn't mean to put it the way I did. I just mean that you're a good guy, and when you talk to people, it makes them want to get to know you. Hence the flirting aspect."

"Don't apologize," he says, and there's an undertone of anger in his voice, well-hidden but very much there. Is he angry at me? At the barista?

At himself?

I release a breath, and he does too, staring at the floor as he says,

"Sorry. I just—I never want to make you feel that way again."

"You never—"

"Yes, I did, Evelyn." he says, his eyes intense as they meet mine, "Otherwise you wouldn't describe it in such a way that I feel it like it's my own experience. People can only talk like that if whatever they're saying is true."

I don't know what to say, so I don't say anything. He just looks at me, for a long while, and I finally whisper,

"Please don't be angry at me."

He laughs then, tenderly, and tilts his head a little as a smile overtakes his features.

"Come on," he says, shaking his head ever-so-slightly, "I could never be angry at you. You're too goddamn cute."

"Language," is all I can think to say, and he smiles down at me.

"Let's go," he says, "I've got a not-quite coffee to drink."