Business Casual (Lovelight, #4)

by B.K. Borison

Flirting has always been easy for me, but flirting with Nova is a goddamn delight. Her whole body comes alive under the attention, like a flower tilting toward the sun. I’m greedy for her reactions. For the way pink lights up her cheeks.

“I’m asking if you’ll come home with me.” My face twists in confusion. “Sure, Nova. I can walk you home.” “No, you idiot. I want you to come home with me.” I stare at her blankly. “For snacks?”

“And at least you’ll be thinking of me.” “In your dreams,” she breathes. “With alarming frequency and incredible detail,” I answer back.

“How to accept things without wondering what you’ve done to deserve them.”

I take up too much space, I want to tell her. I’m loud and sometimes I don’t know how to stop talking. I’m a lot and I know that. I can’t figure out how to make myself fit, but I’m trying. I promise I’m trying.

Don’t impose. Don’t be too much. Take what you’re given and don’t ask for more. Don’t push.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look like that.” “What? Stupid?” “No,” she says. “Happy.”

I’m starting to think the jokes and the comments and the ridiculousness he wraps himself in is compensation for something else. A way to hide.

This terrible, incredible feeling. Why I can’t stop thinking about her, talking about her, looking for her whenever I’m in town. I want to tuck her in her blanket burritos, and I want to fuck her silly, and I want to hold her hand and tell her about tax forms. I want to open her window for her when she can’t manage it for herself. I want to sit next to her at her kitchen table and do absolutely nothing. That has to be love, doesn’t it?

“He’s—he’s funny and he’s kind, and he’s ridiculous most of the time, but he only does it so he can see other people laugh. And he pushes himself to the edges and shrinks himself down to make himself seem more tolerable. But he doesn’t need to do that. He doesn’t need to break himself down into pieces. But I think—I think I made him do that too. I’m just as bad as everyone else because I took from him. Didn’t I? I asked for everything and what did I give him back? Not much. Not nearly enough.”

Charlie, who has made himself content with living at the very edges. Charlie, who thinks he’s an imposition every time he visits. Charlie, who feels like he doesn’t belong anywhere. Charlie, who wanted to hide our relationship just as much as I did but for another reason entirely. Because he didn’t think he was good enough. Because he didn’t think he was worth it. Charlie, who has never been anyone’s first choice. Who has never been wanted.

I’ve taught myself how to be content with scraps. I’ve portioned out the things that make me happy in manageable pieces so that I can savor them for longer. I’ve treated my trips to Inglewild as a reward for good behavior, a hit of dopamine to get me through the rest of an otherwise lonely existence. I’ve allowed myself doses of happiness while I cling to it with two hands, terrified if I indulge too much, if I give too much of myself, I’ll be left standing without anything at all.

“I’ve always wanted to be independent. I thought being strong meant I had to be alone, that I could only have one thing at a time, but then I fell for you without even trying and…I think you might be my very best friend, Charlie. It’s nothing like I thought.” “What is?” “Falling in love,” I tell him, a tremble in my voice. “Being in love with you.

He watches me carefully, and I wait as he struggles to find his words. “Could I take your name?” he finally asks. His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat with a heavy swallow. “When we get married, I mean. Could I—could I be a Porter?” I have to take a second to breathe through the pinch in my chest. “Is that something you want?” He nods. I feel myself smile. “I’m pretty sure you’ve been an honorary Porter for a couple of years now.” “Yeah.” He tucks some of my hair behind my ears, hands framing my cheeks. The look on his face is so tender, it makes me want to cry. His thumb rubs right beneath my eye and I think maybe I might be. “It’s a good thing no one else in your family has an encyclopedic knowledge of nineties R&B groups. I’ve really made myself valuable at trivia.” “More than that,” I tell him, voice cracking.