Emyln

I open the door to Hainsey already feeling nervous, but when I see him standing there wearing a button-down shirt and dark jeans, it feels like there's a hurricane tearing through my insides. I've never been so nervous around him, and even though we've had a few sessions that confirm we've overstepped the "friendship boundary," tonight feels different.

It's the first time in my life he's been over without my parents hanging around. Hains and I have never been in the same house simply alone and together like this before, and I want it to be perfect – especially after a day like today. After we went swimming, we hiked back down the mountain to my vehicle. On the way down, I invited him over for dinner. He agreed before I had a chance to finish my sentence, and said he wanted to stop at home and get cleaned up before coming over.

I look him over. Yeah, he definitely cleaned up during the hour and a half we've been separated. The shirt he's wearing is dressy yet casual, short-sleeved, slim-fitting, and dark grey. His jeans are also slim and sit well on his hips. He's even gone as far as to style his hair – it's a simple tousle, making it look messier than usual, but I like it. It gives him his usual carefree vibe that I love.

Clearly noting the fact that my eyes keep raking him up and down, he shrugs and gives me a shy smile, looking down at me with those grey eyes that almost match his shirt. "Did I overdress?" he jokes.

I look down at my white sundress that's patterned with small flowers. It's the most girlish thing I have ever worn in my life, but I can't say that I hate it. I think it works nicely with the way I've curled my hair and applied a natural-looking layer of makeup to my face. Besides, I'm wearing my white Keds, meaning I'm not wandering too far away from my usual style.

"Nope," I say, shaking my head and stepping aside. "Come on in."

As he walks by me, I notice that my hands are shaking. Why the hell are my hands shaking? I've known him forever. This shouldn't be happening to me.

After I've shut the door, he pulls me against him and kisses me, one hand pressed flat against the wood door to steady himself. It sounds childish, but I'm actually happy I'm not the only one that's losing control of their nerves. For a moment, I contemplate skipping dinner and leading him right upstairs to my bedroom, but then I convince myself that I still need to take small steps. I've made it clear that I want more, but he hasn't. I need to be patient.

Linking my fingers through his, I pull him upstairs and into the kitchen, where mushrooms and asparagus are sautéing in a pan, salmon is cooking in the oven, and a salad that's been covered in plastic wrap is sitting. Like the gentleman he is, Hains offers to help. I tell him to sit his birthday butt down and enjoy the sangria Val showed me how to make a couple days ago.

He takes a sip from the Mason jar-themed wine glass. "It feels like we're celebrating something," he says. "What are we celebrating?"

I roll my eyes as I stir the mushrooms and asparagus. "Oh," I say sarcastically. "I have no idea. Could it be because someone's no longer a kid?"

He laughs, and I can picture him shaking his head at my usage of sarcasm. "Technically, I was already an adult, Ems."

"Nah – you're really not an adult until you can drink. Damn, I feel for Americans. I can't imagine waiting until you're twenty-one to drink."

"Definitely," he muses.

As I prep the garlic bread, my mind begins to spin. I'm having a hard time remembering the ratio between garlic salt and onion powder with Hains sitting here, watching me as I cook. There are very few meals I'm excellent at cooking at, but salmon and vegetables and garlic bread happens to be one of them – thank God. It's definitely a step up from the grilled cheese I can make.

"Heard much from Rosa since she left?" Hains asks.

I could kiss him. I really could. It's like he can sense that I need a distraction while I cook dinner.

"Not really," I shrug. "She's preparing herself for another semester at the University of British Columbia in Kelowna. I haven't wanted to annoy her, y'know? I love my sis and she loves me, but I know when she needs her space."

"And this is one of those times," he says.

"Exactly," I nod.

The quiet, modern country music (music that is way better than the shit my mom listens to) I've been playing in the background suddenly becomes the only thing I can hear as silence takes root between us.

I smile to myself as I slather the French bread in the garlic butter mixture I created. I love this kind of silence – it's comfortable and natural and eases away some of my nervousness.

Behind me, I hear the chair he's sitting in scrape softly against the hardwood. I don't turn around, scared that if I do I might lose control of myself. So I focus every bit of my attention on getting all the butter out of the container and onto the bread.

I'm scraping the butter that's no longer there when I feel his big arms wrap around my waist and pull me against him. It feels so good I almost groan. His body is warm and familiar and hard and comforting, and I've missed him so much.

"Everything smells delicious," he murmurs against my ear.

I start to feel giddy on the inside. "Really?"

"Uh-huh. Seriously, Ems. I can't thank you enough."

Just as a smile breaks across my face, the timer for the oven goes off. Turning around, I tap him on the nose and say, "Well go sit down, birthday boy. Because it's time the food lived up to the smell." I point to the kitchen table that's set with candles, flowers, and my mom's best china. She didn't really give me permission to use it, but I think she can make an exception.

Hains smiles at me and grabs his drink. "Yes, ma'am," he replies, giving me the two finger salute.

"Ugh," I groan. "Don't call me that."

He replies with a wink, and then sits down.

I turn back to the bread, and quickly stuff it in the oven to toast it before I begin to deal with the other food.

Damn, I hope he likes what I've done.

* * *

"Oh my God, Ems," Hains groans as we lay together on the couch. "That was the best meal I've ever had, but I think I ate way too much."

I giggle like a freaking idiot. We both finished off everything: a whole salmon, every crumb of the garlic bread, and we basically inhaled the asparagus and mushrooms. I'm happy I decided against making another batch of cupcakes for him. I think we'd literally blow up if we ate anything else.

"It was my pleasure," I reply. "There's nothing more I've ever wanted than to lay on the couch after a meal and suffer from the consequences of eating too much with you. It's been on the bucket list for years."

He laughs, and then groans again. "Fuck. Why does it feel like my stomach is going to explode when I laugh?"

"We ate way too much," I shrug.

"Yeah," he says, "and I have no regrets."

We lay on the couch for the next five minutes or so, and while I want to ignite something more that leads to my bedroom, I can't seem to do it. This night is already perfect. As much as I want to undress him, and him to undress me, I don't think it's going to happen tonight. And I don't mind that one bit. Now I get why he pulled me into bed the night we had it out. We could've easily had sex, but we didn't. I now understand why.

Moments like these are the ones that build the foundation of a relationship and make all the difference in the future. Little moments that would mean nothing to a random person, but everything to us.

It's like when we ran off to the train wreck. When he broke my nose. The night he crawled through my window.

What more could I ask for?

There's nothing better than making memories with my best friend, boyfriend, and the only boy I've ever kissed.

So I nestle closer to him, resting my head on his chest, and listen to his heartbeat.

"You should stay over tonight," I murmur.

For a moment, there's silence, and I begin to worry that he's going to get up and ruin this moment that I'm engraving into my eyelids and brain and every cell of my body.

But he doesn't.

Instead, he grabs the gaudy yellow throw blanket my mom has had for decades, and drapes it over us. "I'm not going anywhere," he whispers back, adjusting his arms around me. "This has been the best birthday ever, Ems. Thank you."

"Hains?" I blurt.

"Yeah?" he asks.

"I love you so much."

His lips press against my forehead, and I take a deep breath, inhaling his scent. "I love you, too, Ems."

And that's how the night ends: we fall asleep in each other's arms, squished together on the small couch, and never wanting this night to end.