The Enemy

by Sarah Adams

Annnnnd I’ve sailed right past gallant knight and pushed straight into creepy guy, because I take my time, making a mental note of the contents I stumble over. There’s nothing exciting, though. Some gum, her credit card and ID, a tube of lipstick, a hair tie, a guy’s phone number (oops, it flutters right out of my fingers and into the wind), her cellphone, and keys.

He hasn’t spoken to me or even glanced in my direction since he started cooking, so I sort of just thought he forgot I was here. But when his eyes find me right away, I realize he never lost track of me once. He’s been just as aware of me as I am of him.

“Has it never occurred to you that the only reason I picked on you in high school is because I was into you? Or that messing with you was the only way I could get you to look at me?”

I’m not your enemy. I never was.

You don’t become the world’s youngest three-star Michelin chef by sitting on your ass and dreaming of a woman far away. You think of her while you’re working instead.

I then proceeded to think about June every day for the next three years.

I smile, letting the original sting I felt roll right off my back. June is striking back. She’s trying to get under my skin. You know why? Because she likes me.

And that shirt of his is hugging his every muscle in a way that makes me consider suggesting he take it off so he doesn’t get any flour on it. Because, you know, flour is sooooo messy. And who wants to go through all the trouble of dust, dust, dusting it off at the end of the day. See? So impractical. Strip that shirt off, buddy.

And now I’m thinking maybe we won’t run out of time…maybe we’ll get it right this time.

He thinks he can just waltz around my house in a towel for half an hour—yes, it took a full freaking thirty minutes for his clothes to dry—and then I’ll be putty in his hands? Begging him for a date? For him to kiss me? Ha! He’s right.

“I’M…CARRYING…YOU…INTO…THE…SHOWER!” I say with my arms wrapped around Ryan’s gigantic body, using all my strength to try to lift him off the ground. Someone please call Superman. He’s the only one who can get this job done. Ryan is clearly made of lead. “Make yourself lighter!”

Finally, the torture stops, and I open my eyes. He’s smiling. A warm, heart-wrenching, let’s-do-this-forever kind of smile, and I feel a piece of the ice around my heart break off.

His smile grows, and I feel like he’s looking straight through my soul. “Made sure of it. I hated when I had to let go of you.” “In the pool?” His gaze holds mine, and he’s quiet for a moment. “Then too.”

“Don’t make her jump into the cold pool, Ryan. Inch her in and let her see for herself that the water’s fine.” She reaches up and pats my cheek, and it makes my stomach ache from how much the action reminds me of my mom.

Nick Lachey is my perfect man.” “Stiff competition.” “Oh, there’s no competition.” She looks up at me deadpan. “He wins, hands down.”

The last bit of fight I have left in me vanishes. “Because he wasn’t you.”

I love her. I think I always have.

I’m caught in the undertow of water that is not blue, but effervescent green.

I can’t believe I ever used to fear falling in love with him.