I press a quick peck to his lips.“You talk a lot.”
“Only with you.”
Pam clears her throat as she walks by us with a large serving platter filled with stacks upon stacks of pancakes.My stomach growls.Levi sets me down, trading my waist for my hand.We float through the window-filled restaurant.Outside, men and women line up outside the door to take a picture; our car is parked along the curb just beyond them.
“This is crazy.We’re in a singing competition, not a movie.”
He holds my hand a little tighter.“Ready?Head down, walk fast.”
I nod as he presses open the swinging glass door, and we’re off.Levi’s steps are about three of mine, so I have to move at double-time to get to the car at the same speed.Once inside the cab of the car, Levi lets his head fall back onto the headrest.Stress seeps off him.I’m happily exhausted and allow myself to use his giant shoulder as a pillow.
***
It takes a little underan hour to get back to the house.Somewhere after the third traffic stop, I drifted to sleep, only to wake up with my head moving from his shoulder to his lap.
“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” he says with a smile.The sky has completely darkened since we left the pier.
“You mean good night?”
“Are you going to bed?”His eyebrows knit together as he helps me step from the cab.
“Not just yet,” I say, making my way to the front door as he pays the driver.
Where does one go from here?I know where we don’t go, and that’s upstairs or anywhere with a bed.As much as I like Levi—and I really do—there are some glaring asterisks I should go over before we go any further.But as we glide through the empty house, the tension builds like we’re in our own little Instant Pot.We find ourselves in the kitchen, which is great because I’m starving.
He flips around, his back to the counter.“Cravings?”
I hop up on the island, legs dangling from the edge, and déjà vu hits hard.He must feel it too because his mouth tips into a crooked smile.
“I, um...”I exhale all we’re not saying.“As hungry as I am, maybe we should talk first.”
His blue eyes seem to twinkle before saying, “Okay, shoot.”
And all of a sudden, I’m a blank page again, cursor bouncing wildly, giggling at my inability to string words together.
“I can’t think when you’re staring at me.”
“I like staring at you.Plus, I think we’re about to have a conversation...”
“I know, I know.Can you start cooking and then just give me an acknowledging glance every now and then?”I’m being weird, but he doesn’t point it out.Instead, he just pushes off the counter and walks into his favorite room in the house—the pantry.
“So, you were saying,” he calls, but his eyes are directed on the shelves in front of him.I release a sigh, head dropping to my chest.
“I like you.I think we have fun together.”I look up and catch his nod.“But this is all temporary, maybe more temporary for me than you, and I just don’t want you to get hurt.You know, hole up in your room, tissues, and ice cream, watching a string of Meg Ryan movies back-to-back.”
A laugh barks out of him as he comes up beside me at the island, dropping a couple cans of beans, some tortilla chips, pickled jalapeños, and salsa fresca.He inspects the ingredients, checking off some mental list in his head, before pushing off towards the fridge.
“So, other than my well-being, and the competition ending, you like me.”He’s grinning so wide his cheeks nearly hide the blue of his eyes.
“You live in Tennessee, and I live in Louisiana.”
“Long distance never works,” he says, wrapping my statement in a bow.
“Precisely.”
“Hmm,” he hums, before bending down to look through the cabinets below.The sound of pots and pans clanging beneath me brings my attention back to dinner.I pick up the large bag of shredded Mexican cheese, taking a pinch and dropping it into my mouth.A sound rings out from below like a sword being pulled from its sheath.I lean forward just enough to peer over the edge.Levi has in his lap a large cookie sheet that has seen better days.It’s black, brown, and a little gold in the pits of its edges.He’s about to stand up and I’m about to ask what we’re doing when he’s distracted by something else.He places the sheet pan to the side of him and lightly brushes a finger up my exposed ankle.He looks up, maybe for a nod of approval, but I’m too transfixed on him touching me.He squares himself between my legs, both hands gliding up and down my calves.It shouldn’t feel this good—I still have on my faux leather leggings—but it does.I feel each press of his fingers.My skin is needy for his touch.He squeezes at my knees, pulling himself up.His forehead drops to mine, and I watch his hands drag up my inner thighs.His facial muscles pinched in either pain or pleasure, maybe both.
At the halfway point, I’m forced to swallow, the action bringing me back into my body.I place soft hands over his to stop him, hating this part of the conversation.Will he look at me the same...or at all?
