My Boyfriend Is Bad at Leaving

“Will you be my boyfriend?” Avery asked.

“Yes.”

His shoulders dropped a little. I hadn’t noticed how high he’d been holding them.

“Ask me again,” I said.

He glanced at the open window, as if the rain might have drowned him out. Then he turned his chair until he was facing me.

“Will you be my boyfriend?”

“Yes,” I said again.

“You heard me the first time.”

“I liked it the first time.”

He bent his head. He was doing something to my fingers under the table, stroking his thumb once across my knuckles and then back. I sat there and let him get away with it for as long as he liked.

Later I walked him to the door. His room was less than a minute from mine. I could see the light over it if I leaned out far enough.

“Good night,” I said.

“Good night.”

Neither of us moved. I was holding on to his sleeve, so at least one of us had an excuse.

“Are you on early tomorrow?” he asked.

“Late. Ben’s got the morning.”

We discussed Saturday. Then we discussed whether the violet needed water. After that, somehow, we got onto the subject of the stapler Ben had borrowed, the only topic either of us could come up with that might take us another five minutes.

“I’m sure it’s in the glove box,” I said.

“I’ll look tomorrow.”

Avery stepped toward the hall. My hand went with him. He looked down at it, then back at me.

“Would you like me to leave?”

“Eventually.”

“Tonight?”

“I’m trying to work that out.”

His mouth tipped up at one corner. I’d learned that particular expression meant he was about to say something very plain that would cost me most of my ability to speak.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked.

“Yes.”

He looked down the hall.

“What are you waiting for?”

“Ben. He appears when you’re about to do something embarrassing.”

I pulled him back inside and shut the door. He looked at me until I started to feel every inch of space between us. Then I put my hand on his shoulder and kissed him.

It was quick at first. I’d intended quick. I could feel him breathing against my cheek when I pulled back, and then I could feel him holding his breath. That made me laugh, which seemed to give him permission to laugh, too. We kissed again, slightly better prepared and considerably worse at stopping.

When I moved back, he went perfectly still.

I put two fingers against his chest. “Do I need to call Dr. Carter again?”

He caught my hand. “Just wait a second.”

His heart was going hard under my palm. Mine was doing something similar. I’d spent weeks interpreting half an inch of tail as an insult, and here he was holding my hand against the one thing he could never keep quiet.

“You really did that after I kissed your head?” I asked.

“I thought if I moved, you’d stop touching me.”

“I stopped because you didn’t move.”

He let out a small breath of laughter. “I figured that out.”

I wanted to make a clever remark about how many problems we could have avoided with one working conversation. Instead I rested my head against his shoulder. After a moment, he rested his cheek against my hair.

“Tomorrow night there’s the late opening at the greenhouse,” I said. “Want to go with me?”

“I found a place to sit. Back by the fern wall. You can see the rain on the glass.”

“You hate open nights.”

“The fern wall is very far from the entrance.”

“You’ve already checked?”

He nodded. I pictured him walking through the greenhouse alone, looking for the quietest place that would fit two people. The thought did something to me that the kiss hadn’t quite managed.

I reached for his sleeve again when he finally went to open the door. This time I straightened the cuff where I’d wrinkled it.

“See you tomorrow,” I said.

He made it all the way across the walk. My phone buzzed before I’d even closed the door.

*I’m home.*

I could still see him standing under his porch light. I texted him back anyway.