“When you thought I was drinking too much, you were really intense about it. Tonight at the restaurant, you ordered water, and there’s plenty of alcohol here, but you’re not drinking any, and while it might be because you know I can’t drink, I feel like there’s more to it. Am I right?” In anticipation of my answer, she looks up at me, hands clutching the bench on either side of her.
“You are. I’ve seen what addiction can do to people, and I thought… well, I was worried about you.” It’s not the whole truth, I know it and I hate it, but this isn’t the right time or place for whole truths.
“You were worried? You weren’t judging me?” Her eyes search mine, and I’m so thankful I can answer these questions completely honestly.
“I was never judging you. I was scaredforyou.” I place a tentative hand over hers, much like that first night. She doesn’t move away.
“Oh,” she says quietly. “I think maybe I misread the situation, then.”
“I think we both did.” I squeeze her hand and give hera smile I hope communicates that we can move past it. That I already have.
“I’m overheating from all that food.” After sliding her hand from beneath mine, Alice slips her jacket off, and my mouth goes completely dry. Her top hugs across her chest and arms, leaving her shoulders completely exposed. “Should we walk off these food babies and see what’s going on at the market?” Nodding my response, we both stand. Alice hangs her jacket over her purse, and we walk side-by-side in comfortable silence.
The sun has set over the hills, and our path is lit by hundreds of strung lights between the tents of local makers and vendors. Alice insists on getting Luther a leather toy he will destroy in less than six seconds and some handmade treats, saying she can even put them in the container with the green lid to make sure I don’t eat them. I love that she remembers that and calls me out on having eaten dog food. More than that, though, I love how carefree she seems tonight.
She takes off ahead of me, and when I reach her, she dramatically turns around with a pair of pink heart-shaped glasses on. “What do you think?” she asks, wiggling her eyebrows and flipping her curls behind her, that toothy grin hitting me straight in the heart.
“Gorgeous,” I answer honestly, but she rolls her eyes and sticks her tongue out at me, reaching up to remove the glasses. I catch her wrist, lowering our hands and linking our fingers. With my free hand, I reach into my back pocket, pull out a bill, and hand it to the woman watching us with a knowing smile that reminds me of Rosemary.
We continue exploring, and as it gets darker, she flips the glasses to rest on top of her head, but doesn’t let go of my hand. When we reach the end of the market, she keepswalking toward a quiet spot lit by a firepit that no one seems interested in since it’s warmer than usual.
“Arthur, is this a date?”
Her question takes me by surprise, but I don’t hesitate to answer, “I hope so.”
Turning to face me, her eyes reflect the fire, and she’s entirely golden. “You do?” She licks her lower lip, and I track the movement, moving closer to her because I can’t help myself.
“Yeah, tesouro. I hope the fact that I haven’t been able to take my eyes off you all night, and that I really don’t want to let go of your hand, and that I wish this night could last forever means this is a date for you, too. I’m tired of pretending you’re not on my mind every second of the day, that I haven’t wondered what your lips taste like since the night we met.” We’re so close I can feel her breath on my lips. “I don’t know how much longer I can go without begging you to let me kiss you.”
TWENTY-FOUR
you don’t have to beg
Alice
“You don’t have to beg,” I start, as my hand finds purchase on his torso, fisting his shirt. “You don’t even have to ask,” I confess in a whisper. And that’s all it takes. His lips touch mine in a kiss so reverent, so hungry and explorative, I’m not sure I’ll ever experience anything like it again in my life. I don’t think I want to either.
The way his fingers tangle in my curls has me floating into the night like the embers of the fire beside us, but his other hand clutching mine tethers me to the ground, reminding me this is real. That his lips are, indeed, touching mine in a kiss that’s so much better than I’ve imagined these last few weeks.
He pulls back, resting his forehead on mine, but I can’t bring myself to let this moment end.
“Not enough,” I whisper before reaching for him, bringing his lips back to mine, begging with a whimper to never let this end. His response is his tongue tasting mine languidly as a deep groan builds in his chest. No othersound has ever made me feel so alive, so needed, so wanted.
When we finally break away from one another, the sky has darkened completely, and we’re both out of breath. The sounds of the fire crackling, the people chattering in the distance, the nighttime insects buzzing nearby, all fade back in slowly. I stare into his eyes, as dark as the night itself, and he stares back, his fingers still in my hair, but gentler now.
I shiver as the breeze hits my skin, and Arthur pulls my jacket from where it hangs over my bag, gliding it up my arms and tugging it closed over my chest. “Let’s go home?”
The word home has never sounded so sweet. And I let myself play into this little fantasy where his home is my home, where we come back to each other, day in and day out, because we want to, not because we have to.
We walk hand-in-hand to his truck, then drive back to a hotel that is certainly not home, but that makes this date feel much more like one.
As he walks me to my room, the heat of his touch on my back burns through my clothes, even as we come to a stop and I turn into him.
My stomach flips as a nervous energy rolls through me, and he must feel it as his grip on me tightens, his thumb drawing circles on my spine.
“I hate to be this person, but… what now?” And I do hate it. I hate that I’m asking this moments after the best kiss of my life. I hate that I suddenly feel the eight years between us because he is a man. A real man. And I feel like a silly girl. But I shouldn’t, because Arthur’s gentle smile immediately tells me he’s not worried.
“Now I need you to be sure that you want this. That you want me.” He kisses the corner of my lips, my chin, my jaw. He leaves tiny kisses all over my skin until I’mready to melt and mold into him so we can never be separated again. “Because if you do, we’re not just roommates anymore. Not just coworkers. Now we’re more. So much more.” But when his lips land on my neck and goosebumps rise over every inch of my exposed skin, making me stiffen, he stops and waits for me to process his words. “You can tell me.”
