“No alcohol,” he says, biting into a slice of bacon. “What’s the second?”
“Um… You clean the dishes.”
“Was going to anyway.”
“Okay,” I drawl, pushing at the omelet with my fork. “Um… You… You have to clean up after yourself…”
“Lana.”
I blink and put down the fork. “What?”
Christian puts down the slice of bacon. “You only have one condition and I already know it. It’s my condition too.”
“That I don’t drink?”
“ThatIdon’t drink,” he says. “Ever.”
I nod. “Right. Yeah.”
Christian resumes eating his breakfast, and I finally take a bite out of my omelet. His specialty was always breakfast. He made pancakes from scratch every week and experimented with different kinds. Blueberry, chocolate chip—all of it.
We eat our breakfast in silence and I wait for this to feel awkward. I wait for my skin to feel too tight around my bones but it never happens. I’m with Christian, the only person in the world that has made me feel perfect as I am.
“I’m sorry,” he breathes, breaking the silence first.
“For what?”
“Last night.”
I shake my head. “It was…both of us.”
“I missed you,” Christian whispers sadly. “Imissyou.”
I bite my cheek, keeping the tears at bay while I poke at my food. “I know.”
The song restarts, the same song—our song? Kind of, I guess. I bite at the bacon, pick at the omelet, wondering how often he has listened to the song while he was gone. And if he thought of me—of us.
“Dance with me?”
I put down my fork. “Huh?”
Christian stands from the chair and holds out his right hand. “Dance with me, baby.”
I swallow the food in my mouth and look down at his hand, the lines of his palm waiting to touch mine. I look back up at him, and he’s waiting.I’mwaiting for something to shout at me, to shake me around and tell me to let him go.
But nothing does that.
Everything tells me he’s mine, even in death.
Slowly—praying none of what happens after last night is a mistake that leads to an obliterating, disabling heartbreak—I put my hand in his. He leads us toward the floor space between the island and the couch. The sun shining through the sliding doors casts a glow against the light washed wooden floors and acts as a spotlight over us.
The rays rest against the side of his face, brightening hiscoffee colored eyes, making them softer. Lighter. The sun highlights all of his features, and he looks like what an all powerful greek god might have looked like back then.
Christian releases my hand and puts his at the small of my back, holding me to him, and my arms go around his neck. We sway and sway to the lyrics, and his temple is pressed against mine. Then he starts singing along.
I laugh but he keeps going. He’s terrible. Truly horrible at rapping and singing, but I’ve never heard a more beautiful voice in my entire life.
Then his hands are holding my face, his nose is touching my nose, and his lips are against mine. Just like all the times before, he says the lyrics against my lips while I smile against his.
