I dropped my head back against the seat as I laughed. "Is that how you celebrate your birthday, Cal? Breaking and entering?"
He unbuckled his seat belt, shook his head. "Yeah. That's how former Army Rangers do it."
"That's funny," I replied. "I thought that little performance in your bedroom was how Army Rangers did it."
"Yes on both counts." He reached over, cupped my cheek. I leaned into his touch. "Take me inside, Stella."
"Are you speaking about this"—I gestured down the length of my body—"or that?"—a nod toward the house.
"Yes on both counts," he repeated.
I melted into his easy touch, sighing in relief when he leaned forward and brushed his lips over mine. It was a gentle kiss, patient and unhurried as if he knew we had all the time in the world.
But…did we? Did we have time? Or was this bound to end like everything else always ended for me? My head was fogged in, thick with questions and doubts and hopes.
Cal released my seat belt and whispered, "Stay there. I'm coming to get you." As if I could've moved after that. He climbed out, rounded the car, his fingers gliding over the hood as he walked. He opened my door, took my hand as I gained my feet, and held out his palm. "Keys, Stella."
I handed them over as he swatted my backside. This was the kind of chivalry I wanted: open my door, smack my ass. "It's the one with the red nail polish. The side door," I said, nodding to the narrow set of stairs and small porch. "I only use the front door on Halloween."
"You must get a lot of kids in this neighborhood," he said, swinging his gaze up and down the quiet street. "This is nice. I can see why you'd keep it to yourself."
We walked up the driveway, our fingers laced together. He unlocked the door, held it open for me. A single light shone over the sink, the one I switched on every time I left home. I frowned at it for a moment, struggling to remember the last time I cleaned the bathrooms and changed the sheets. But Cal closed the door behind him and turned the lock, and none of that mattered. We stared at each other, smiling as if we were alone for the very first time.
Cal placed my keys on their hook. He took my bag from my shoulder, set it down. Then he brought his palms to my hips, pulled me close, pressed a kiss to my forehead. I looked up at him in the low light, nodded. "Come with me," I whispered. "I want to show you something."
I led him through the house, upstairs to the bedroom that had never before welcomed a man. I closed the door behind me, leaned back against the hard plane of wood. He turned in a slow circle, taking in the all-white space. White walls, white blankets, white pillows, white furniture.
"If you'd asked me," Cal started, "I never would've chosen this for you. But now that I'm here, I get it." He turned toward me. "I get it."
I kicked off my ballet flats. "What do you get?"
He tipped his head to the wall where four square canvases hung, each with a single curved line of black giving rise to the shape of a woman's body against the flood of white. "You," he replied simply. "I get you." He gestured to the bottom right canvas, the one hinting at the dent of a waist, the cleft of a backside. "I get the calm of this space. The absence of noise."
I shrugged out of my jean jacket, tossed it at the bench at the foot of the bed. I wasn't sure whether it landed. I was too busy staring at Cal, here, in my calm. I reached for that panic. Tried to get my hands around it one more time. But it wasn't there.
"I get your quirks," he continued, nodding at the abalone shell mermaid lamp on my bedside table, the one sporting a solid D-cup. "I get your mind, your heart."
I pushed away from the door, toward Cal. I went to him hands first, grabbing at his shirt and pulling him against me. "How?" I asked. "How do you do that? How do you know?"
I walked him back until his legs hit the bed. He sat, drew me between his legs, shifted his hands to my waist. Squeezed me there, like he wanted my skin to remember his fingertips. "I've always known. Even when it didn't make sense."
"That's crazy." I tangled my fingers in his hair while his hands shifted to my back, my thighs. "It's crazy, Cal."
"And yet here we are," he said with a lopsided grin.
"Here we are." My hands skated over his shoulders, down his arms and then up again. I brought my fingers to the buttons at the base of his throat, glanced up to meet his gaze. "Yes?"
He nodded. "Yes, Stella."
I freed each button while he studied me. His breath came in short, quick bursts against my cheek and that was enough to keep me from going in search of that panic again. At the end of the placket, I pushed the shirt over his shoulders before reaching for his belt. "Yes?"
Another nod, another, "Yes, Stella."
He leaned back, his hands anchored on the bed behind him as I worked his jeans open. His gaze never left me as I peeled his clothes from him. When his boxers hit the floor, I reached for the hem of my dress but he grabbed my wrist, stopping me.
"My turn, sweet thing," he said. The dress was up, over my head, gone in the blink of an eye. My bra and panties followed, separating from my skin without ceremony.
I smoothed my hand up his flank, over his chest and shoulder, pausing at the Army Ranger tattoo on his bicep. With my free hand, I reached between us, closed my fingers around his length. "Yes?" I asked, stroking him just enough to send his eyes rolling back.
