When the movie ends, she rolls, turning to face me, lifts a hand to cup my cheek, leans in for a soft, gentle kiss, then pulls away. We lay like that for a while, my hand wrapped around her waist to keep her close, our eyes locked.
“I want to make out with you,” she whispers.
“Then do it.”
“I don’t know if I’m ready for that.”
The words sound like a confession of sorts, and I lift a shoulder.
“Then don’t. I’m happy just lying here with you.”
Again, time passes, and she stares at me, trying to read past the walls that have long since been obliterated, before she speaks.
“You mean that, don’t you? Taking things slow, waiting me out?”
“Hallie, if this is all I ever get from you—long nights on the couch and sweet kisses and hearing you laugh—I’d be happy.”
Her nose scrunches up. “I wouldn’t,” she says, and I laugh.
“Good to know. When you’re ready for more, let me know. Or take it. I don’t care.”
Again, she stares, and again, I hold her gaze. Eventually, she nods, believing what she’s seeing and what I’m saying, then rests her head on my chest and lies there quietly.
That night, Hallie falls asleep on the couch with me, and even though it’s uncomfortable and I have to shake her awake at five to get her out of the house before Emma wakes up, since I know that’s what she would want, it’s the best night of sleep I’ve had in weeks.
TWENTY-FIVE
The week after Emma gets her period is everything I didn’t know I needed, but I think somehow, Jesse knew. He seems always to know what I need, and if I let myself believe it, I think he’s known what I need for some time.
And up until now, that was sweet kisses and nothing more. But by Tuesday, the soft, chaste presses of our lips aren’t doing it for me. I think about it the entire night as we watch some movie I can’t even pay attention to, Jesse’s warm back against mine, his arm looped around me, holding me tight.
I want more.
I need more.
And when I turn in his arms when the movie is over and lie face to face,
“Hey, Jesse?”
“Mmm,” he says low, reaching up and pushing some of my hair back over my shoulder in a delicate brush.
Gentle. So, so gentle. He’s always so gentle with me, and this past week has shown me that he’s not only gentle with his actions but also with his intentions. Gentle so as not to scare me, gentle so as not to push me too far, too fast.
And suddenly, I realize I want more.
“I want you to kiss me,” I whisper. He looks at me a bit confused, but then I clarify. “Really kiss me.” I lick my lips, and his eyes follow the movement before a low curse escapes his lips, the sound of it resonating right between my legs.
And then his lips are on mine, but not in the safe, sweet way I’ve become used to. It’s heated; his hand is resting in my hair behind my head, using his grip there to position my head where he wants it. His lips move over mine, his tongue wasting no time as it slides along the seam of my lips, requesting entry. I open quickly, and when his tongue touches mine, we both sigh.
Fuck, I missed this. Missedhim. The taste of him, the way he sounds, the way he feels against me. Every touch sends fire through my veins, and it builds and builds until all that exists in my universe when his lips are on mine is him and me. There are no complications, no fears, no daughter, no family—nothing but Jesse and me.
We kiss like that for long minutes, my heart racing and need building. His hand moves to my hip, gripping tight as if he needs it to keep him tethered to reality, to remember whatever plan or mission he’s laid out for himself.
I suddenly want him desperatelyuntethered.
“Jesse,” I breathe, needing more. “I need…more.”
He groans, his fingers tightening on my hip, and I tighten with anticipation. But instead of getting his hand or literally anything to ease the ache between my legs, I get a soft, sweet kiss, remiss of any fire that was there moments ago.
