It Had to Be You by Georgia Clark (e reader for manga .txt) 📗

demolish a house with a teaspoon. The foundations were too solid. The structure was too big.

And yet, there was: I only liked it because everyone else did.

Her New York vision board, with its central clipping of a hot guy in a tux, had been stuffed under her bed for weeks.

Honey sat on the sofa. “What are we watching?”

Panicked, Savannah doubted her choice. It was undeniably an offering. The first tap of that teaspoon against solid brick. “I thought we could check out a show called, um, Feel Good.”

Honey almost did a double take.

Savannah busied herself with pouring cheese puffs into a bowl. “I don’t know, it sounded fun, but we don’t have to if you’ve already seen it.”

Honey curled up at the far end of the sofa. Her eyes rested on Savannah curiously. “I saw it. But I’ll watch it again.”

Savannah’s phone vibrated. Dad Calling. She felt a flicker of guilt. But she wasn’t doing anything wrong. She turned her phone off. “Let’s do it.”

Feel Good was about a Canadian comedian living in London named Mae Martin who started dating a girl called George, who’d never dated another girl before. They were kissing in the first ten minutes and then they moved in together and then it came out that Mae used to be an addict but that didn’t matter because Savannah was already in love with Mae, and George, and the idea of Mae and George together. It was familiar and alien, and Savannah was experiencing a disorienting whiplash of recognizing a version of herself in George, a fictional character from a different world. With different rules.

When the episode ended, she immediately pressed play for the second one. Then the third. Then the fourth.

“Savannah?”

“Huh?” Savannah startled, finger on the remote.

Honey stretched, looking amused. “Can we take a break?”

“Oh. Sure.” Savannah checked the time and blushed. “Sorry.”

Honey rose to get the wine from the fridge. She poured them both a glass, emptying the bottle. “I take it you’re into it?”

Savannah nodded, the words spilling out in a rush. “Holy mack, it’s amazing. It’s funny and smart and obviously, um, sexy. I really like George and Mae is just so hot. She’s like a pretty boy and a pretty girl and I’m really into it.”

Honey laughed. When she sat back down on the sofa, it was closer to Savannah. Her cheeks were flushed from the wine. She propped her hand up with her head, her fingers buried in her dark curls. “Do you think she’s your type? Or are you just into girls, in general?”

Savannah inched closer. It felt like sharing a secret. An illicit, exhilarating one. “Maybe… girls in general?”

The sky had darkened over the past few hours, and now it was night. All the lights in the apartment were off. The only light came from the TV, paused on the credit roll. Honey’s voice was soft. “Girls like me?”

Savannah’s gaze dropped to Honey’s mouth. Her rosebud lips, plump and parted. She wanted to feel them. Touch them. Savannah nodded, her voice both small and, somehow, enormous. “Yes.”

Honey shifted closer. Her eyes were questions as she reached for Savannah’s hand, taking it in hers.

Their fingers met. Electricity jolted up her spine. Savannah was so overwhelmed, for one horrifying second she thought she might cry. Then the feeling settled, blooming into something more manageable, and they were holding hands. Just like Imogene and Mina. She was holding Honey’s hand.

But she wanted more.

The air between them sparked with possibility.

She leaned toward Honey, closing the distance between their mouths. Honey did the same. This was it. It was happening. She could feel Honey’s breath. Savannah’s heart was beating wildly, slamming her rib cage with an undiscovered ferocity. Everything inside her was urging her forward, forward, forward until Honey’s lips met hers and they were kissing.

They were kissing.

And all of a sudden, everything made sense.

Every love song made sense.

Every romantic movie made sense.

Every poem, every painting, every Taylor Swift lyric, everything in the entire world made sense because this, this, was how it was supposed to feel. How love was supposed to feel, how kissing was supposed to feel. This was what everyone was talking about.

It was a sweet kiss, a sexy kiss, the first kiss where she wasn’t thinking about if her breath smelled or how much tongue she should use. It was simply the most natural, most easy, most thrilling act of her entire life.

When she pulled away, her eyes were wet. Honey stroked her face, a smile turning worried. “What’s wrong?”

Savannah pressed Honey’s fingers into her cheek and shook her head. “Nothing,” she managed. “Nothing’s wrong at all.”

Because everything was finally right.

59

Sam hurried up the steps to the brownstone. He was almost an hour late. His ex-wife, Claudia, had come down with the flu, so he’d asked Claudia’s sister to sleep over and babysit. Dottie loved her aunt, but since the divorce, his daughter had become sensitive to broken promises and changes to routine. It’d taken bribes of ice cream and a princess costume to allow Sam to leave for an “overnight work trip,” and even then he felt extraordinarily guilty. On top of everything, he was lying to his child, even if it was for a good reason.

Sam liked order. While happy to improvise in the kitchen, he preferred the satisfaction of following set rules to produce an expected outcome. But there was no recipe for this, the divorced-dad-dates-a-widowed-mom dish. This was life: messy, chaotic, and never quite turning out how you anticipated.

He’d been keeping Liv in the loop over text. Her last few messages had been a little… strange.

Sam, 6:50 p.m.: Issues with Dottie: I’m going to be a bit late.

Liv, 6:58 p.m.: No problem!!!!

Sam, 7:25p.m.: Working on it. So sorry.

Liv, 7:35 p.m.: I’m good!!!! Ha ha, LOL.

Sam, 7:45 p.m.: Okay, finally en route! Be there by eight.

Liv, 7:47 p.m.: !!!???!!! WOW. I feel

Liv, 7:48 p.m.: Srry sent that too

Liv, 7:49 p.m.: IM RELAXED!!!