37 - BAKING SODA

37 - BAKING SODA


CHERYL

Moving day. The day I was finally supposed to pack up my life and start over.

I should be excited.

I should be jumping for joy.

Instead? I was standing in the middle of the hallway, dressed in the absolute worst color choice for a move-in day—white.

A white sweater. Sweatpants. What was I thinking?

Too late to change now. The movers were already outside, lugging my stuff into the van, while Damon stood by, making sure everything was moving smoothly. Like the bossy, take-charge man that he was.

He looked ridiculously sexy in all black, but that wasn’t where my mind was.

My mind was stuck upstairs.

With him.

Aiden.

The man I had spent years hating.

The same man who had somehow, some way, managed to wedge himself into my head like an unsolvable riddle.

We had spoken earlier that morning—if I could even call it that.

A muttered “good morning” from him.

A reminder from me about the party later that evening.

And then—he vanished.

Into his room. Into his thoughts. Into the awkward, suffocating tension that wrapped around us every damn time we were in the same space.

I exhaled, shaking my head.

I shouldn’t be thinking about him. I wouldn’t think about him.

Not after everything he put me through in high school. Not after the way he made my life hell.

I was moving on. I was starting fresh. I was—

Oh, crap.

I had just rounded the corner, heading back to my old room to make sure I hadn’t left anything behind when I slammed— full-force—into Aiden.

And the glass of orange juice in his hand?

Now dripping down the front of my sweater.

I gasped, staring at the giant, horrifying stain spreading across my chest. Orange juice. On my white sweater.

Because of Aiden freaking Scott.

His eyes widened, mirroring my own horror. “Shit.”

I lifted my hands, about to rub it out, when—

“No! Don’t touch it!” His voice snapped through the air, and his hands shot out, stopping me before I could make it worse.

I blinked up at him.

“It won’t come out if you rub it in,” he explained, already grabbing my wrist. “Come with me.”

And just like that—I was being pulled.

By Aiden.

Aiden.

His fingers were wrapped around mine, warm and way too steady for my liking.

A strange feeling curled up inside my stomach—like a thousand tiny butterflies had just woken up and decided to start a riot.

Oh, no.

I knew exactly what this was.

And I needed to kill it. Immediately.

But how did one kill a thousand butterflies fluttering inside them, reminding them of something they weren’t supposed to feel?

We reached the kitchen, and Aiden let go of my hand—finally—before he started rummaging through the cupboards.

I crossed my arms over my very obvious, very orange stain, watching him as he moved.

His jaw was tight, eyes sharp and focused.

And his hair?

Slightly messy. Like he had been running his fingers through it all morning.

I hated how good he looked. I hated that my stomach still hadn’t settled. I hated that I even noticed.

“Here.” His voice pulled me back, and I watched as he pulled out a packet of—

Baking soda?

I frowned. “Are we baking my sweater now?”

Aiden huffed, amused but still so serious.

“Just a sprinkle, and it’ll clear out the stain in a second,” he said, stepping closer.

Before I could react, he reached for my sweater.

Not my hand. Not my arm.

My sweater.

And then—he touched it.

He touched me.

Well, not really.

But almost.

His fingers barely grazed the fabric, barely grazed me, but my entire body froze.

Because he was close.

So close that I could smell him—whiskey and something dangerously Aiden.

So close that my heart started sprinting inside my chest.

I had nowhere to look except him.

His head was bent, all his focus on fixing my sweater like it was the most important thing in the world.

And I—

I forgot how to breathe.

Oh God. Should I hold my breath until he was done?

Because if I inhaled even a little, I might just do something reckless.

Like lean into him.

Just then, he looked up.

And our eyes—

Slammed.

Locked.

Tangled in something so thick, so heady, I forgot everything.

His blue eyes caught me completely off guard.

And suddenly—

There was no air left in my lungs.

We just stood there.

Staring.

The weight of something unspoken hanging between us.

And then—

“You’re all set,” Aiden murmured.

His voice was low. Steady.

Like we weren’t just drowning in whatever the hell this was.

I blinked, catching myself, yanking myself out of whatever spell I had just fallen under.

I took a step back—needed to take a step back.

“Looks good as new,” I muttered, voice barely there.

Why was my voice barely there?!

I turned, needing out, but the second I did—

Damon appeared at the doorway.

“We’re all set,” he said, his eyes flickering between Aiden and me.

Oh.

Oh.

Had he seen… that?

Nope. Nope. Nope.

I nodded quickly, moving toward Damon—toward safety—before I made the grave mistake of looking back.

And of course—

I did.

I glanced at Aiden.

His gaze was already on me.

And my chest squeezed.

I swallowed. “Well, I guess I’ll be seeing you at the party?”

I don’t know why I asked.

Or why I sounded so hopeful.

But Aiden nodded.

“I won’t miss it,” he said.

And for some reason, that felt like a promise.