Ruth's POV

"Welcome to mi casa," Michael says, extending his arms and showcasing the space that has the exact same layout as my apartment. The only difference between mine and his is the lingering misty scent of fresh cotton air freshener that he probably sprayed in every room before he answered the door.

"I'd be more blown away if it weren't for the fact that our apartments look alike," I tease. "I like the furniture, though. It adds character."

Every piece of wood furniture is stained a different color; the entertainment center black, the kitchen table maple, and the bookshelf console behind the suede couch dark brown—none of them match but it's not distracting to the eye. However, the few scattered dirty clothes and unwashed dishes lying about are. Restraining from cleaning his apartment, I follow him into the kitchen.

"Thanks," he says. "Did Serena find a dress?"

"Magically, yes. And she didn't have to pay an arm and a leg for it even with the wedding date so close. Word of advice: if you ever want to go gambling, take her with you; you'll be guaranteed a jackpot."

He chuckles as he grabs the package of chicken from the refrigerator and lays it on the island. "I'll keep that in mind."

I poke the raw chicken breast covered with a plastic lining. "So how do we bake this?"

"Well, poking it isn't going to do anything," he says. "Take them out of the package and rinse them off."

My eyes flicker between the chicken and Michael. "Yeah...I can't do that."

"Why not?"

"I don't like touching raw meat."

He sighs and rubs his temple. "Do you want to eat?"

"Yes."

"Then touch the damn chicken," he orders and leans against the counter, urging me towards the kitchen sink. "Take your time; I've got all night."

I cringe as I tear the package open and grasp the slimy raw meat, groaning at how slick it feels in my hand as I run it under cool water. "Why is this so thick?" I complain. "I can barely hold it in one hand."

"That's what she said," Michael snickers.

"I'm serious! These breasts are so squishy."

"That's what he said."

"Stop it," I whine.

"Hey, you're the one throwing out innuendos. I'm just taking the opportunities as they come." I roll my eyes and finish rinsing off each piece of chicken. Michael takes a glass baking dish and sprinkles different seasonings along the bottom. Each spice he adds makes my nose itch and I have to scrunch my nose to keep from sneezing.

"How long do I have to keep holding these?" I ask, watching as he grabs another spice bottle from the cabinet and lines the pan heavily with the red grains. "If I'm going to be holding breasts of any kind, I'd rather them be my own."

"Do girls actually do that? Hold their boobs whenever they feel like it?"

"I can't speak for all girls, but sometimes you just have to remind yourself how empowered you are as a woman, and it's fun."

"You're not wrong about it being fun." His eyebrows dance and I can't stop the sputter of laughter that escapes my mouth.

"Perv." I place the chicken onto the pan, leaving space between each piece before washing my hands with an ungodly amount of soap. Before Michael hands me the spices to coat the top of the chicken, I take out my phone and hold it out in front of us, making sure the chicken is in the camera frame. "Smile!" Instead of doing what I ask, Michael leans closer to me, his shoulder brushing against mine and he sticks his tongue out.

He relaxes after the shutter clicks. "What was that for?"

"To shut my brother up," I say, attaching the photo to a text to Luke with the message "Is this enough progress for you?" and sending it.

"Why?"

I reply with my go-to response for anything regarding Luke. "Because he's an idiot."

"I'm so confused."

I'm hesitant to tell him about Luke's secret matchmaker plan, but his puppy eyes break me down. "Luke is taking it upon himself to try and hook us up."

Creases line his forehead as his brows furrow. "You and me?"

Chills shoot up my arms from his unwavering stare and I focus on reading the labels of the spices to divert my attention. "Yeah."

He leans forward, forcing eye contact. "And that's a problem?"

I shake my head. "No, not at all!" If I hadn't developed these feelings towards Ashton, maybe emotions would have rekindled between me and Michael. "It's just that he's trying to keep me away from Ashton by using you."

He studies every inch of my face and presses his lips together, pulling back to his previous stance. "I was wondering why he was pushing me so hard to talk about you on Serena's birthday. It makes sense now why he invited me."

"Yeah, like I said, he's an idiot."

He instructs me to sprinkle a little of each spice over the chicken and keeps a close eye on me to make sure I don't put too much. "Luke doesn't know about you and Ash?" he asks.

"There is no 'me and Ash', but no."

"Then what do you call last night?"

"Breaking and entering with idiot number two."

He chuckles. "How'd that go by the way?"

"We nearly escaped being caught by the police," I say. "It was thrilling, but not something I'd like to experience more than once."

"Did you at least have fun doing whatever you two were doing?"

I finish sprinkling the last spice onto the chicken and smile proudly at my work. Sure, it's probably the easiest thing to make because it doesn't take a lot of effort but I am cooking nonetheless. "You make it sound like we were doing something dirty," I joke. "But I did have a lot of fun. More than I thought I would." Just thinking about it makes my stomach flip.

Michael takes the pan and slides it into the oven. "And now we wait," he says, twisting a silver egg-shaped timer to set the bake time. "Come with me, there's that I want to show you." He guides me to bookshelf console in the living room and pulls out four hardback books with school years written on the spines.

"Are those our high school yearbooks?" I ask, beaming.

"I found them when I was cleaning out my closet earlier. I thought it would be fun to take a stroll down memory lane."

I take the stack of books and sit at the table, Michael taking a seat next to me. The spine cracks as I open our yearbook from freshman year. I flip through the pages, pointing out a few pictures of student events and random shots that we were unintentionally photographed in, until I reach the student portraits and find Michael's picture.

"Look at how long your hair used to be!" I say, giggling at his natural blond locks. His fringe had covered most of his left eye and compared to his brightly colored hair and stubble lining his jaw, he looks like a child in this picture. "You looked so cute!"

"I wasn't cute," he argues. "I was adorable."

I laugh. "I'm sticking with cute," I tease.

"Okay, fine. Let's just see how you looked." He flips forward a few pages and scans down the row of names until spotting 'Powell' on the list.

"No!" My hand slams down onto the page, shielding the photo from his eyes. "I hate this photo."

Picture day at school was never a pleasant experience. All throughout elementary to my freshman year of high school, my pictures were painfully horrendous, and it was partially due to me forgetting it was picture day. Dad would always say my pictures captured my essence, but Mom was confused as to why I would look normal when Luke would take photos of me but when picture day came around, look like a hot mess.

"I'm sure it's not that bad," Michael says, peeling my hand away. My hair looked like it hadn't been brushed in days. Tangled auburn strands framed my face in the most unattractive way and I can't even stand to look at the forced smile I wore. "Oh, damn," he mumbles and I swat his arm. "I'm joking! You don't look bad; you look like you rolled out of bed."

"That's because I did. I had never been good at remember when picture day was. I made sure that this would be the last terrible school photo I took, so sophomore year, I planned ahead and woke up early to do my hair and makeup. Plus mom would have killed me if it turned out terrible since it was technically my 'senior' photo. She wanted to have at least one good photo of me hanging on the wall in her house."

Michael pulls another yearbook from the stack and runs his thumb along the pages until finding my other portrait. "I like the other one better," he says, glancing between the two photos and then to me. "This one makes you look too dolled up, but you look cute in either one to be honest; you still do."

I bite my lip to contain my growing smile. Sixteen-year-old me is swooning from his compliment, while twenty-one-year-old me is embarrassingly flattered. I didn't realize how close he is to me; our knees and shoulders are touching and his warm breath tickles my neck. There's no doubt in my mind that I'm physically attracted to Michael, but emotionally—that's another story. My attraction is geared towards someone else and not even an old teenage crush is able to change that.

Panic surges through my veins as I watch his pale green eyes disappear and long eyelashes fan out when he closes his eyes, inching closer and closer. I turn my head and his lips brush against my cheek. My guilt grows when the pressure of his plump lips falls and his head drops to rest on my shoulder.

"Michael, I can't," I whisper softly, wanting nothing more than to brush his hair and console him, but I keep my hands planted in my lap.

"Because of Ashton," he says. My silence affirms his response.

"If you thought I was leading you on or sending the wrong signals, it was completely unintentional."

He raises his head; an apologetic smile paired with glassy eyes staring back at me. "You didn't do anything," he assures. "Don't worry about it. I got too comfortable and took a shot at something I've wanted to do since high school."

"But I thought you said you were over your crush on me?"

He shrugs. "Doesn't mean I never thought about what it'd be like to kiss you. At least I was able to partially steal one. I'm satisfied with that."

If only I had reunited with Michael before I met Ashton. Maybe this situation would be different. Maybe I would have allowed him to kiss me. We're already so comfortable with each other and our friendship is natural, but I'm not sixteen anymore.

I lean forward and kiss his cheek, lingering momentarily. "Me too," I say. He smiles sheepishly, a rose tint surfacing on his face.

Keys rattle against the front door, the lock twisting and enabling the stranger to casually stroll inside. "Mikey, I hope you have food because after cleaning the entire bakery by myself, I could literally eat a—" Ashton stops mid-sentence, his face falling as he views the scene before him. There's no doubt my cheeks are flaring red; I can feel them burning without touching them. Michael is still only inches away from me, a look of pity drawn on his face, but it's not directed towards Ashton. It's more like he pities himself.

"Oh." Ashton's voice drops. Our eyes lock and I feel sick to my stomach. "I didn't realize I was interrupting."

"Ash, nothing was—" The door slams shut before I can finish, the apartment rattling from the force. I scramble to my feet and gather my belongings. "Shit. Michael, make sure the chicken is fully cooked when the timer goes off. The last thing I need is to get salmonella poisoning!" I shout as I sprint out of his apartment.

With a mind of their own, my feet trek up the staircase, closely following behind the annoying blond boy who manages to give me heart palpitations with every genuine smile of his. I call his name several times, begging for him to slow down, but he picks up his pace instead. I barely catch up to him just as he tries to slam his apartment door in my face, but I slip inside before it rams shut.

"Nothing happened, Ash," I try to assure, but he scoffs and turns his back to me, drifting from the living room to the kitchen. I follow him. "You misinterpreted the situation."

"I don't know what you're talking about," he says, his tone light as he plays dumb.

"Then why did you storm out like that?"

"Sorry, watching other people make out isn't my thing."

"We weren't making out."

"Looked like it from my angle. Your cheeks are still red," he says, pointing to my face.

"I'm a little flushed; big deal. I just ran up two flights of stairs chasing after you, so excuse me for being a little worn out."

"You also came into my apartment uninvited," he adds.

"Oh, so you can barge into mine in the middle of the night, but I can't come over to clear up a misunderstanding?" He shrugs. God, he is so annoying. Normally, he will speak his mind, but he has closed himself off and refuses to listen to reason.

"For someone who says they trust me, you sure are acting like a dick," I spit.

Ashton's face hardens and nostrils flare. "Don't take me for a fool, Ruth," he berates, pacing towards me and leaving less than a foot between us. "I saw how close you two were. "Nothing" doesn't happen when two people are that close to each other."

"And what if something did happen? It shouldn't give you reason to act immature. I don't understand why you're making such a big deal out of nothing!"

"It's a big deal because I don't want my best friend to make a move on the girl I like!"

For the first time since I entered the apartment, the room is silent apart from the slight humming of the air conditioner. Ashton's chest rises and falls rapidly from exertion, as though his confession has physically worn him out. My body stills as I stare dumbfounded at the hazel eyes bearing into mine. All this time I've been denying the idea of him liking me, but I heard what he said, and now I feel like an idiot because our feelings have been reciprocated from the start.

His breathing evens out and his tongue glides over his lips, an undeclared invitation that I take full advantage of. I'm unfazed by Ashton jolting in response when my mouth meets his. My elation grows as he relaxes and moves his lips with mine, his hand cupping the back of my neck and pulling me closer. He tastes just like he smells; like strawberries and sugar. I can only wonder if he naturally tastes like this or if it's because he works at the bakery. Either way, I could get used to this.

"I'm going to kick myself for this later," Ashton starts, his fingers trailing from my neck down to my collar bones. I shiver from the touch. "But why are you kissing me?"

His biceps flex as my fingertips press into his skin. "Because the guy I like is being dumb and won't listen to me," I say.

A smirk plays on his lips, the small craters in his cheeks peeking out. "And this guy would be?" he sings.

"Do I really have to spell it out? I mean you should probably be able to answer that yourself given our current position."

"Ruth, you're ruining my fun," he teases, pecking my lips softly. "You and Michael really didn't do anything?"

"Don't get angry," I warn.

He jerks back, the smile wiped clean from his face. "You're not off to a good start."

"He tried to kiss me, but he only grazed my cheek because I didn't want him to. He understands that I like you too much to feel anything towards him."

"So the guy is me," he says smugly, and I roll my eyes. His hands grip my waist and he lifts me up onto the island counter and stands between my legs. "But he didn't kiss you like this?" he asks, tilting my chin and pressing his slightly chapped lips to mine. I almost groan when he pulls away.

"Nope."

"Good, because I want to be the only one who can do that." Ashton reveals the smile I've grown to admire and his eyes glisten as they gaze adoringly into mine. I'm so glad I'm sitting right now because I'd be a puddle on the floor if not.

My arms find their way around his neck and my fingers web through his curls. "I think that can be arranged."

___

A/N: This chapter is looooooong overdue. I've had some of it written for a while, but I've had such a hard time finishing it. So what do you think about Ruth and Ashton? Who wants to hug Michael and never let him go? How do you think Luke will respond to Ruth's text?

School starts this week and my course load is pretty heavy this semester so updates will be slow, and I'm sorry they are always slow because I hate not being able to update this story because I love it so much and have a lot of fun writing it. I'm trying to work on an update schedule but I know I wouldn't be able to follow it because I want to give you good quality chapters to read. But I hope you will still keep this story in your library! I'm not going to leave it.

Thank you so much for reading! –Rebecca xoxoxoxo