“I’ve seen how you look at my feet,” she said, smiling now. “You think I don’t notice?”
“I—okay, fine,” he said, covering his face. “I have a mild foot thing. It’s not weird. I’m just—into them. Yours. A little.”
Emily laughed. “You’re ridiculous. But at least you’re honest.”
She sat beside him, legs crossed, one bare foot casually landing right in his lap.
“Since you’re already caught,” she teased, “how about you stop acting like it’s a secret? You can appreciate them — just don’t sniff my socks next time, okay?”
Conner blinked. “You’re… not mad?”
Emily smirked. “Mad? Please. I’ve got the best-looking feet in town. About time someone noticed.”
He grinned sheepishly. “So, uh… what now?”
“Well,” she said, stretching her toes, “you can start by massaging them. And maybe I’ll let you admire them. Within reason.”
Conner, stunned but delighted, got to work.
Emily always knew Conner was a little weird — but in the endearing, awkwardly adorable kind of way. When she caught him with her sock, she wasn’t mad. Honestly, she was impressed he lasted that long before cracking.
She’d noticed the way his eyes dipped when she kicked off her shoes or flexed her toes. The way he suddenly forgot how to speak whenever she painted her toenails on the porch.
So when she caught him red-handed, sock in hand, blushing like a cartoon character, she couldn’t help but tease him.