Dating-ish (Knitting in the City #6)(90)

"I know it." He swallowed, the corners of his mouth tugging upward, his eyes darting over my face, and then he blurted, "Have I ruined our friendship?"

I stiffened, wincing at the vulnerability behind the question. This was one of the times where he looked so earnest, I wanted to wrap him in a hug and kiss any trace of hurt from his memory.

I considered asking him about the kiss back at the hospital, about what it meant or why he did it, because I hoped it meant he'd changed his mind about long-term relationships. But then I reminded myself that my hopes were responsible for the current state of my heart. It was time for me to be pragmatic instead of hopeful.

I already knew the answer, it was time for me to believe him. Hadn't he said over dinner the night before, "Some people don't want to be fixed"?

He's attracted to you, that's why he kissed you, that's why he made a pass at you in New York, and that's why he's wondering if he's ruined our friendship now.

Asking about the kiss wouldn't help make things any clearer. Things between us were already clear, I'd been blind. I didn't need him to say it. My heart could not handle another rejection of my hopes. Nor did I think our friendship would survive if I laid myself bare and told him I wanted a forever with him.

I knew what he'd do and what he'd say. He'd let me down gently and try to salvage some sort of friendship. Or he'd try. He'd try to love me. And how devastating would that be? I didn't want someone to try to love me.

No. Nothing of our friendship will survive if I ask him about the kiss. So instead, with a lump in my throat, I said, "No. Of course not." And gave him a reassuring smile that felt both too big and too small. It was and wasn't a lie. I was the one who'd ruined our friendship. I ruined it by wanting much more of him than he'd ever be willing to give.

As awful as that was, I had to own it.

He inspected me, as though endeavoring to read my thoughts, and the weight of his gorgeous dark eyes felt unbearable. "Don't lie to me. Please."

Dropping my gaze to the seat between us, I gathered a steadying breath. I had to. His words, his voice, and his watchful glare made me feel unsteady.

"I'm not lying, Matt. I think what's between us isn't really a friendship. Not anymore. It's grown into an anomalous dependency, one that I believe is not what either of us want. Or deserve. And it's not something you've ruined. It just is."

Lifting my gaze, I found him staring at my neck. His features were devoid of all expression, but eventually he nodded.

I swallowed past a thickening lump in my throat, adding, "I care about you, Matt. I always will."

He closed his eyes, turning away from me, giving me his profile. Yet I could tell his features were still blank.

Compelled, I continued, "But I also think we both need to return to our own lives and stop using each other as a crutch."

Matt's eyelids opened, but he kept his gaze studiously forward. "Am I going to see you again? After today? Or are you planning on avoiding me?"

A sharp, cutting pain originated in my chest and sliced outward, up my neck, down to my stomach, and along my arms.

Gripping my forehead, I struggled to speak coherently. "We're supposed to see each other next week. When your friends are in town. I'm still planning on being there, as long as I'm still invited."

"Yes. Of course you're still invited." He nodded slowly, clearing his throat.

I turned my attention to the window at my side, not looking at my reflection or the streets of Chicago, but rather turning my deliberations inward. The day had been a crazy one-crazy happy, crazy worrying, crazy concerning, and now crazy sad-and I wished I could live it all over again. I didn't know if I would have done anything differently, but so many of the moments were worth treasuring and holding on to.



       
         
       
        

"I want you to know," his deep voice, roughened with emotion, broke the silence and drew my eyes back to his profile, "that any part of yourself you're willing to share with me-any time, any energy, any thought-I exist as a ready audience."

A genuine-albeit small and wobbly-smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. "This also goes for food? You'll also be open to accepting food?" I tried to tease, infuse some lightness into this bleak moment.

His answering smile was just as genuine, but it was also desolate. So terribly, terribly sad. "Of course, Marie. That's a given. Food always goes without saying."





22





Relay

A robot that can be used by hotels (such as The M Social Singapore hotel) to deliver room service to guests. It navigates using 3D cameras, can negotiate elevators, and maneuver around people wandering down the corridors.