“I was.” I copied his lean and sipped my drink.
“I almost backed down, fearing I was pushing you toward something you didn’t want or weren’t ready for.”
“Grief is a heavy burden to carry, Kobe. It plays tricks with your mind and your heart. I lost a lot.”
“I know, and I didn’t want to be responsible for making your life any harder than it was.”
“You haven’t. I needed to find a way to fit you into my world without losing the foundational pieces that have kept me going for the past few years. I’m sure that doesn’t make sense, but—”
“It does. You seem content.”
“I am. She wouldn’t have wanted me to grieve forever. She would have told me to look ahead, not back. I’m learning.”
“It’s not easy.”
“No.”
Kobe wet his lips and looked like he wanted to say more but didn’t. From the living room, the song changed. A melodic, moody piece of jazz filled the air, a contrast to the upbeat swing we’d been listening to.
Kobe tipped his head back with a smile. “God, I love Coltrane.” He hummed a few bars before eyeing me from under mischievous dark lashes. “Are you a dancer, Doc?”
“Not one with any skill.”
He held out his hand. “I can lead.”
Before I knew it, Kobe swept me into his arms. With one hand firmly planted on my waist, subtly guiding my steps, he clutched my other hand, tucking it against his chest, nestling it between our bodies. With our foreheads together, we swayed to the soulful cadence of the saxophone.
Kobe hummed the tune and closed his eyes, soft dimples cutting grooves into his stubbled cheeks. From the little I heard, I suspected he had a beautiful singing voice. I followed his steps as he moved us around the kitchen, never missing a beat, his timing exact. Kobe Haven was a world of surprises at every turn.At times, innocent and playful and childlike. At others, fierce and loyal and focused.
He tipped forward and kissed the bridge of my nose, then my eyebrow. He moved his lips along its arch and peppered another kiss next to my eye. Pressing his cheek to mine, he whispered beside my ear, “Dominique?”
The intonation was its own song.
Kobe breathed, his lips wordlessly scraping the shell of my ear. I felt his nerves flutter under his skin and registered the buzzing tension rippling through his muscles.
“Dominique,” he said again, less a question, more an appeal. For what, I didn’t know.
Caged in his arms, surrounded by melodic jazz, the request that followed came out as nothing more than a breezy whisper, soft enough I almost missed it. “Will you let me love you?”
I closed my eyes, absorbing the impact of those six words, and squeezed Kobe tighter in my arms. I had yearned and feared this moment. A lump formed in my throat, but I swallowed it down. I had never stood a chance. From the day Kobe turned his boyish smile in my direction, sat on the living room floor and played Polly Pockets with Cosette, from the first moment the fires of injustice burned in his eyes, I knew,I knew, there was no turning back.
“I will be hard to love, Kobe.”
“Not so far.”
“I carry a lot inside me.”
“We all do.”
“You barely know me.”
“I know enough.”
We danced. I could find no more arguments. At one point, Kobe drew back to look me in the eye. He hid nothing. His heart was on display, raw and open and hopeful. “Could you ever love again?”
We came to a slow stop as I peered into the many layers of this most unexpected man. Where had he come from? Where had he been in my darkest hours? How could I go on without his fire lighting my path?
“I already do.”
