The One You Can't Forget (The One, #1)

thirty-six

Emyln

I open the door to Hainsey already feeling nervous, but when I see him standing there wearing a button-down shirt and dark jeans, it feels like there's a hurricane tearing through my insides. I've never been so nervous around him, and even though we've had a few sessions that confirm we've overstepped the "friendship boundary," tonight feels different.

It's the first time in my life he's been over without my parents hanging around. Hains and I have never been in the same house simply alone and together like this before, and I want it to be perfect – especially after a day like today. After we went swimming, we hiked back down the mountain to my vehicle. On the way down, I invited him over for dinner. He agreed before I had a chance to finish my sentence, and said he wanted to stop at home and get cleaned up before coming over.

I look him over. Yeah, he definitely cleaned up during the hour and a half we've been separated. The shirt he's wearing is dressy yet casual, short-sleeved, slim-fitting, and dark grey. His jeans are also slim and sit well on his hips. He's even gone as far as to style his hair – it's a simple tousle, making it look messier than usual, but I like it. It gives him his usual carefree vibe that I love.

Clearly noting the fact that my eyes keep raking him up and down, he shrugs and gives me a shy smile, looking down at me with those grey eyes that almost match his shirt. "Did I overdress?" he jokes.

I look down at my white sundress that's patterned with small flowers. It's the most girlish thing I have ever worn in my life, but I can't say that I hate it. I think it works nicely with the way I've curled my hair and applied a natural-looking layer of makeup to my face. Besides, I'm wearing my white Keds, meaning I'm not wandering too far away from my usual style.

"Nope," I say, shaking my head and stepping aside. "Come on in."

As he walks by me, I notice that my hands are shaking. Why the hell are my hands shaking? I've known him forever. This shouldn't be happening to me.

After I've shut the door, he pulls me against him and kisses me, one hand pressed flat against the wood door to steady himself. It sounds childish, but I'm actually happy I'm not the only one that's losing control of their nerves. For a moment, I contemplate skipping dinner and leading him right upstairs to my bedroom, but then I convince myself that I still need to take small steps. I've made it clear that I want more, but he hasn't. I need to be patient.

Linking my fingers through his, I pull him upstairs and into the kitchen, where mushrooms and asparagus are sautéing in a pan, salmon is cooking in the oven, and a salad that's been covered in plastic wrap is sitting. Like the gentleman he is, Hains offers to help. I tell him to sit his birthday butt down and enjoy the sangria Val showed me how to make a couple days ago.

He takes a sip from the Mason jar-themed wine glass. "It feels like we're celebrating something," he says. "What are we celebrating?"

I roll my eyes as I stir the mushrooms and asparagus. "Oh," I say sarcastically. "I have no idea. Could it be because someone's no longer a kid?"