Remember This Part

17. The Day Starts With a Bakery...

Thea.

I watch Alex's face carefully as he looks around the small bakery. I'm a little nervous, even though I shouldn't be. I stumbled into Angel's on a whim a couple months ago, and it has yet to let me down. It won my loyalty after one bite of a warm, buttery, cinnamon churro. I think it would be impossible for Alex to not like it.

But there's this look on his face that the anxiety in my head keeps pointing out. Is he disappointed? Should I have just let him take me to Kent's?

When he turns to look at me and offers me a small grin, however, I ease up.

"Wanna take this to go?" he asks.

"Sure."

It's probably for the best, as Angel's is always packed and therefore lacking in privacy. Alex and I have a lot to discuss, after all. I mean, we did kind of make out last night (until we were so rudely interrupted by my inner psyche).

I also don't want to get ahead of myself here. It wouldn't surprise me if Alex wants to sit me down so he can tell me in no uncertain terms that he isn't interested in a relationship. Admittedly, I'd been feeling a little nauseous all morning at that prospect. Despite my obvious and justified attraction to Alex, I couldn't do a friends-with-benefits thing, and at this point, I doubt we could go back to a just-regular-friends thing.

I didn't even know what to tell Nika when I arrived in our room for a four-minute shower and a change of clothes. While Alex sat in the car and patiently waited, my faithful roommate drilled me about last night's events. Suffice to say that I had a hard time talking about him, despite the fact that he's been on my mind almost constantly.

Like he is right now, for instance.

I look up at him, watching his pensive gaze as he studies the big chalkboard with the menu items written in cursive. His height no longer scares me—it only adds to his appeal. And there's other things I like about him, too, that I've only recently started to notice. His nose, his neck, his hands, the curl of his hair and the creases that appear beneath his eyes when he smiles. Those eyes, which once looked so cold and unyielding to me. When I look in them now, I find that they're as dark and warm as black coffee.

He must know that he's objectively attractive. But I wonder if he realizes how beautiful he is.

"You should try the glazed mini-pies," I suggest quietly. "Or the cinnamon buns."

"Have you had the doughnuts?"

"Several times," I answer honestly. "And I realized very quickly that they're addictive, so I'm forcing myself to pretend they don't exist."

"Well, I won't get those, then," he says with a smirk. "I wouldn't want to hinder your recovery."

"No, you should order them so I can blame you for my relapse," I counter.

"I refuse to take responsibility for that," he laughs.

We head to the counter to place our orders. He manages to step in front of me, and before I can stop him, he's already told the cashier to use his card for the payment. I flash him a look of frustration, to which he responds with a mischievous smile.

"I'm getting you back for the coffee," he whispers in my ear.

"The coffee was to get you back for Kent's," I point out, practically seething.

"Kent's was to get you back for helping my grandmother," he promptly replies.

"This is getting to be a vicious cycle," I remark. "I'm on the verge of declaring war."