Free Waking Up to Love by Evan Purcell

looking at the soft curve of her cheek, the glow in her eye. Arizona sun was different. And it looked good on her.
    The waiter came back with their food and refilled both their waters. Ramona looked at her sandwich for a second, just a second, and said, “Well, at least it doesn’t have mayonnaise. You know how I hate that.”
    “Thank you,” he said.
    She looked at him funny.
    “For being there for me,” he said.
    “It’s not that hard,” she said. “I care so much about your mom. I kind of have to help out, you know?”
    “Not just this. Not just now.” He flicked at his straw. “I mean, always. You’ve always been there for me. So … thanks.”
    “You’re welcome.”
    “One of the hardest things about the last couple of months was that I couldn’t talk to you about any of it.”
    “You could’ve called me.”
    “And talked to you about your sister? I couldn’t. Things were complicated enough. And when she ran off, I knew I couldn’t vent my feelings with you.”
    “You could’ve.”
    “Stop saying that. You know it’s not true.”
    “You’re probably right,” she said.
    Their food was getting cold really quickly.
    “But now,” he continued, “it’s just good to have you back in my life again.” He leaned forward and placed his hand on hers. “It’s good to have you back.”
    He had to play it safe. He couldn’t lose her again. He wanted to kiss her—oh, God, he wanted to kiss her—but he knew that if he did—
    Things would change.
    Things would go bad.
    Just like what happened with Nessa.
    “As a friend,” he said. As the words came out of his mouth, they hurt. They caused him actual pain. But in his mind, he knew that he’d done the right thing.
    “Okay,” she said. And this time, he couldn’t read her expression.
    • • •
    “Can you help me with these cans?” Debra asked. The doctor had told her not to exert herself, yet there she was, standing on her tiptoes with several cans of soup in each hand.
    “Stop,” Ramona nagged. “I told you I can put everything away. You’re too—”
    “I’m too what, dear?”
    “Short,” Ramona answered. “You’re too short to put these away. I’ve got a good two inches on you.”
    Debra handed her the cans and pointed toward their destination, the top shelf on the right. “Nice save, dear.”
    The back door creaked open. Ramona looked up just in time to see Scott McInney, his muscular arms full of groceries, walk into the kitchen. He had a smile on his face, at least until he saw his fake-wife leaning against the counter. A shadow passed over his face, and his expression morphed from carefree to businesslike.
    Every time he entered a room, Ramona’s brain stopped and started, like a computer screen blinking on and off. He was her virus, her glitch in the system.
    And God, what a glitch. He still wore his BLM shirt, which was at least a size too tight. It clung to his body, smudged and sweat-stained, and the wide expanse of his shoulders and arms flexed underneath.
    “Hello, ladies,” he said.
    Ramona could’ve kicked herself. He wasn’t supposed to see her staring at him like a piece of meat. It was too embarrassing, especially after their lunch date yesterday. He had made everything abundantly clear: He wanted to be friends.
    Friends.
    “Stop right there,” Debra demanded. And when Debra demanded something, you obeyed. “That’s no way to treat your new wife.”
    “No, it’s not,” Ramona added playfully. Her cheeks blushed pink.
    “Long day at work,” he mumbled, but that wasn’t good enough for his mother.
    “All the more reason to appreciate Nessa,” she said. Except for the “Nessa” part, Ramona liked where this conversation was headed.
    “Kiss her, Scott,” Debra said. “Your father kissed me every chance he got. And look at me now.”
    A few days ago, that would’ve been a joke. But now, after two days of walking and talking and giving orders, she was starting to look like herself again. Her