Beneath Familiar Skin

The bass from the speakers in my boutique was turned up loud enough to rattle the glass in the display window. I was on my knees behind the counter, wrestling with a tangle of extension cords, when the bell above the door chimed.

"Ana? You in here?"

I knew that voice better than my own. "Back here, Lucy. Trying not to electrocute myself."

Lucy appeared at the end of the counter, a bottle of wine in each hand, her blonde bob freshly highlighted. She took one look at me, sweaty and disheveled, and burst out laughing.

"You look like you've been crawling through a hedge."

"Close enough." I stood up, wiping my hands on my jeans. "The lighting guy bailed. I'm doing it myself."

"Of course you are." She set the bottles down and surveyed the chaos. Racks of clothing had been pushed to the walls, leaving an open space in the center of the floor. A makeshift bar was set up near the fitting rooms, stocked with cheap champagne and expensive vodka. "This is going to be a disaster, isn't it?"

"The best kind."

That was the thing about Lucy. She'd known me since we were nineteen and sharing a dorm room with a broken radiator. She'd seen me through three failed businesses, two disastrous relationships, and one regrettable perm. She was the only person who could walk into my boutique on the night of its five-year anniversary party and tell me it was going to be a disaster without me wanting to throw her out.

"Where's the guest of honor?" she asked, popping the cork on the first bottle.

"Which one?"

"The one you've been talking about for two weeks straight."

I busied myself with the extension cords, refusing to meet her eye. "Ben's not the guest of honor. The boutique is the guest of honor. This is a business event."

"Uh-huh." She poured two glasses and handed me one. "And that's why you've changed your outfit four times today."

I looked down at what I was wearing. A black wrap dress, fitted at the waist, the neckline plunging just enough to be interesting. I'd paired it with heels that made my legs look longer than they actually were. My hair was down, freshly curled, falling in waves past my shoulders.

"It's a party," I said. "I'm supposed to look good."

"You're supposed to look good for Ben."

I took a long sip of wine. Lucy had a point, but I wasn't about to admit it. Ben was my best friend. Had been for six years, ever since he'd walked into my boutique looking for a gift for his then-girlfriend and walked out with a scarf, a business card, and a standing invitation to Friday night drinks. The girlfriend hadn't lasted. The friendship had.

He was also the person I thought about when I couldn't sleep. The one I called first when something good happened. The reason I'd spent two weeks agonizing over the seating arrangement for tonight, making sure his name was at my table, close enough to talk to, far enough that I wouldn't spend the whole evening staring at his mouth.

Not that I was staring at his mouth. I wasn't that far gone.

"Ben is my friend," I said, because it was true and because the wine was cold and because if I said it out loud enough times, I might start believing it. "He's coming as my friend. To support my business. That's what friends do."

Lucy gave me the look. The one that said she'd known me for a decade and I couldn't lie to her about anything, least of all this.

"Friends don't look at each other the way you look at him."

"Friends can look at each other however they want."

"Not like that they can't."

The bell above the door chimed again before I could respond. I turned, and there he was.

Ben. In a charcoal suit that fit him like it had been made for him, which it probably had, because he was the kind of man who had a tailor. His dark hair was slightly tousled, like he'd run his hands through it on the way over. He was carrying a bottle of whiskey, the good kind, the kind that cost more than my first car.

He smiled when he saw me. And I forgot how to breathe for a second.

"Happy anniversary, Ana." His voice was warm, familiar, the sound of every late-night phone call and every stupid joke and every moment I'd ever wanted to kiss him and hadn't. "You look incredible."

I crossed the room before I could think about it. Hugged him before I could stop myself. He smelled like cedar and something citrusy, and his arms went around me like they belonged there.

"Thanks for coming," I said into his shoulder.

"Wouldn't miss it." He pulled back, but kept one hand on my arm. "I brought whiskey. Figured you'd need it."

"You figured right."

Lucy appeared at my elbow, wine glass extended. "Ben. Good to see you."

"You too, Lucy." He took the glass, but his eyes were still on me. "How's the setup going?"

I launched into a rundown of the evening's logistics, grateful for something to focus on that wasn't the way his thumb was tracing small circles on my forearm. Catering was set up in the back. The DJ was running late. I'd forgotten to pick up the ice.

"I'll get the ice," Ben said.

"You don't have to do that."

"I know." He squeezed my arm and let go. "But you're stressed, and it's something I can do. Let me help."

I watched him walk out the door, watched the way his shoulders moved under the suit jacket, watched the door close behind him and the bell settle back into silence.

Lucy was smirking at me over her wine glass.

"Shut up," I said.

"I didn't say anything."

"You were thinking it."

"I was thinking," she said, "that you're in so much trouble."

She wasn't wrong. I'd been in trouble for years, if I was honest with myself. The kind of trouble that starts as friendship and slowly turns into something else, something you can't name because naming it would ruin everything. Ben was my best friend. He was also the person I wanted to come home to. The person I wanted to wake up next to. The person I thought about when I touched myself, which was a thought I usually pushed down as far as it would go.

But tonight, with the wine and the music and the way he'd looked at me, it was harder to push down.

I finished my glass and poured another.

The party started at eight. By nine, the boutique was packed. By ten, the DJ had shown up and the champagne was gone and I was dancing with Lucy, both of us laughing at nothing, the way we used to in college. By eleven, I was standing by the bar, talking to a vendor, when Ben appeared at my side.

"Want to get out of here?"

I blinked at him. "What?"

"Not forever." He smiled, that crooked smile that made my knees weak. "Just for a few minutes. There's something I want to show you."

I should have said no. I had guests. I was the host. But Ben was looking at me like I was the only person in the room, and I was tired of pretending I didn't want to be alone with him.

"Okay," I said. "Let me grab my coat."

He led me out the back door, into the alley behind the boutique. The night air was cool, the city sounds muffled by the buildings. He stopped under a streetlamp, turned to face me.

"I've been thinking about something," he said.

"About what?"

"About you." He paused. "About us."

My heart was beating too fast. "Ben..."

"I know we're friends. I know that's important. But I also know that I've been in love with you for years, and I don't think I can pretend anymore."

The words hung in the air between us. I could feel the weight of them, the truth of them. I'd known, somewhere deep down, that this was coming. That the way we looked at each other wasn't just friendship. That the way he touched me, the way he said my name, meant something more.

"Say something," he said.

I stepped closer. Close enough to feel the warmth of him. Close enough to see the way his eyes flickered down to my mouth.

"I've been in love with you too," I said. "For a long time."

He kissed me. And it was like every cliché I'd ever rolled my eyes at, the fireworks and the earth moving and all of it. His hands cupped my face, gentle, like I was something precious. His mouth was soft and insistent, and I melted into him, my fingers gripping the lapels of his jacket.

When we finally pulled apart, we were both breathing hard.

"So," he said, his forehead resting against mine. "What now?"

I laughed, a little breathless. "I don't know. I guess we figure it out."

"That sounds like a plan."

He kissed me again, and I let him, because I'd been waiting for this for years and I wasn't about to stop now. The party was still going inside, the music still playing, my guests still drinking my champagne. But out here, in the alley, with Ben's arms around me, none of that mattered.

What mattered was that tomorrow, I'd have to figure out how to be more than friends. What mattered was that I had no idea how to do that. What mattered was that I was terrified and exhilarated and more alive than I'd felt in years.

But for now, I just kissed him back.