Near Miss

by Haley Warren

He was good with the patients—I’ll give him that. I imagine he’s probably good with people in general. A smile like that, eyes that are wholly focused on you, so you know he’s listening.

“I don’t date so I don’t . . . I don’t have a date. You could come with me. To the gala. If you wanted. One more kick at the PR can.” “As friends?” He tilts his head, all of him suddenly serious and the lines of his jaw looking sharper now that the last rays of the sun are gone. “Friends. Business acquaintances.” I shrug. He nods once, thoughtful, before grinning. “Yeah, alright. I look incredible in a tux.” I wrinkle my nose, roll my eyes like he’s insufferable instead of funny and maybe sort of wonderful. But I’m laughing a bit when I speak. “Shut up.”

AWWW 😭

I’m not really sure. But I am sure she’s everywhere and nowhere. And I am sure that real me must be a masochist, because he’ll take any scraps she gives, and he does it with a smile.

I find more reasons to touch him—a brush of my hand over his shoulder, one of the waves of his hair twirling between my fingers, my lips scoring across the stubble of his jawline. I press my cheek to the planes of his back while he stands over the stove cooking me dinner. He likes that, I think.