Imperfect Chemistry
Page 30
The day after Thanksgiving, we have a giant breakfast of fruits, meats, bagels, and almost any other breakfast food you could possibly imagine because my mom can’t do anything by half. After that, Jensen is loaded down with leftovers—for some reason, I get nothing—and we are loaded into Sam’s truck to be taken home.
The plow was returned to its rightful owner at some point the day before, and the roads have been mostly cleaned. The snow has melted enough that the streets are drivable.
Sam drops us off in front of the duplex and takes off, leaving us alone on the porch.
“Well.” Jensen shrugs his backpack on. “I guess I’ll see you later?”
“Yes,” I say, while searching for my keys in my bag. “Bye,” I call out over my shoulder before unlocking my door and entering my side of the duplex.
I’ve just tossed by bag on the couch and I’m checking the power—it works, thankfully—when there’s a knock at the door.
I open it and Jensen is standing with his hands in his pockets, rocking back on his heels.
“So,” he says. “Do you have any plans later?
“I just got home, how could I have made plans already?”
He laughs. “Right. Would you like to come over for dinner later? I have some delicious leftovers.” He offers with a shrug and a smile. “Maybe we could watch a movie?”
“Okay.”
“Okay. So at like five?”
“Okay.”
“Okay, I’ll see you then.” He steps backwards and nearly trips over a slightly raised board in the deck and then laughs at himself.
I smile, but I feel a little confused by the whole conversation and I shut the door before he gets back into his place.
That was weird. Was he nervous?
***