Celeste stares at me, biting her red-painted lips before she replies, “Same. Maybe it’s because you were a friend of a friend, but I don’t think I ever felt awkward with you, either. And I was way more socially anxious back in college, to the point that I could barely get myself to talk to other people. But I always felt like I could talk to you. Well, during the times we were still talking to each other, of course.”

I blink. Celeste was always one of the “cool kids” at our school who never seemed to have a shortage of friends around her at any given moment. When we lived together, she’d constantly have guests over at our apartment. To hear that she was socially anxious is a big surprise.

“Oh, I never knew that,” I say at last. “You did a good job hiding the anxiety.”

Celeste shrugs. “Just because people like me, doesn’t necessarily mean I like them back.” She laughs. “God, I sound like such an asshole, but I mean that in the least douchey way possible. I’m uncomfortable with most people, because I come from a family where my parents never let me be myself. And, because of the way I look, everyone always assumes I’m a certain way when I’m really not.”

I wince, and she laughs at my chagrined expression.

“It’s fine,” she continues. “Everyone’s a little miserably awkward inside, regardless of how popular they are. Especially in college. Some people are just better at hiding it.”

“I’ll drink to that.” I take another sip of my wine.

Celeste does, too. And after she swallows, she says, “With you… I never felt like I needed to be someone else. Living with you was one of the happiest experiences of my life.”

I meet her eyes, and her long lashes flutter slightly, as if she’s startled by the sudden eye contact. But then her gaze intensifies as it slides down to my lips.

I lean forward and kiss her. Celeste places her wineglass on the table to gently caress my face with her hands. To avoid falling to the ground or causing a spillage, I get off my stool and climb into her lap instead. All I can think about is her dark eyes and how good she feels against my skin.

“I loved living with you, too,” I say. “And I feel so comfortable around you, too. I still love—” I bite my lip, catching myself before I can go on.

Celeste’s gaze softens, like she knows what I was about to say.

“I love being with you,” I finally get out. That’s passable, right?

Celeste kisses my forehead. “I love being with you, too.”

She moves down to my lips, and we’re still making out when the waiter says, “Ahem, pardon me, your pizza is here.”