“I wanted to kiss someone again.” I say it without thinking, my eyes firmly on his smile, which drops slowly as his face turns serious again, the same kind of serious as it always gets when he’s looking atmylips. At that moment, I realize that he and I have been wanting to kiss each other for a while now. It makes me bold enough to voice it. “Can we finally kiss yet, Adam?”
He steps forward and places his hands on my face, cupping my cheeks. I close my eyes at how good it feels, his warm, calloused hands so gentle against my skin, and when I open them, he’s leaned in so far that he’s a breath away. “You sure?” he asks.
“Yes,” I whisper firmly, and then his lips are on mine.
We start softly, kind of like a dozen little pop kisses, until I can’t take it anymore and I reach my hand around the back of his neck and pull him in deeper. He sucks my lower lip in his mouth, and I clutch at his biceps with my other hand—it just feels so good. When our tongues meet, I moan, which makes him give a low groan, and one of his hands lowers to the small of my back,pushing me closer and closer, until my breasts press against his chest, our legs intertwined. It’s still not close enough.
He laughs, pressing his forehead to mine. “I knew…God, I knew it would be like this with you.”
“Like what?”
He pulls back, making eye contact, and for once, it doesn’t feel like too much. “Like everything.”
I think I know exactly what he means by this. I suspect that I knew it would belike everythingwith Adam even when I was a ghost, my body still asleep inside this ancient, powerful tree.
“Is it okay if we kiss again?” he asks, and this time, I’m the one who laughs.
“Of course,” I say, and when he leans in, I swear, a handful of sun-yellow leaves lift up off the floor of the tree trunk, fluttering and surrounding us like ecstatic blue moths.
We walk back from theoak tree in silence, both of our mouths a bit swollen from all that making out in the woods and whatnot, and then Adam says, “You bringing food over again for Gramps?”
I freeze. “Shit. Today’s Friday.” I mean, I knew it was Friday, but it’s also somehow hitting me again that it’sFriday. “I can’t believe I forgot to cook something.”
Adam gently nudges my shoulder with his. “Hey. No worries. I can order pizza.”
I shake my head. “No. He needs something wholesome and homemade. Otherwise he lives on nothing but super processed food.”
Adam’s eyes warm completely as he gazes all over my face.My eyes, eyebrows, down to my lips—again with the lips, even though we just kissed!—before he blinks away. “I’ll cook, then.”
I raise my brows. “You can cook?”
He tilts his head with a grin. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t ask me that.”
“Hey. You’re forgetting that I’ve been trying to date for the first time this year. Tons of men refuse to learn how to cook. When I’ve asked stuff likeWhat’s a specialty meal you make?, they respond with something likeWhy should I learn how to cook when my wife’s going to handle all that anyway?”
Adam shakes his head. “Shameful. Men who probably think they’re natural leaders or some shit and they’re too dependent and unintelligent to even feed themselves properly.”
We begin walking again, returning to the beach path but going the way to the parking lot. The ground has fully shifted on this trail from sand to the soft, dark forest floor. I love the textures of this earth. Sometimes I take off my shoes in the woods to feel the mud between my toes. It feels so good. Primordial, maybe. Many creation myths begin with the gods forming humans and more-than-humans out of dirt.
“Eggplant parmigiana, by the way,” he says.
I tilt my head up at him. “Hmm?”
“My specialty meal I like to make.”
“Oh.” I furrow my brow. “Yum?”
“I’ll make it tonight. Come by at your normal time and I’ll try and have it ready by the time you get there.”
I stop again. I can’t help the smile on my face. “Really? You’ll cook for William?”
“Yes. I’ll cook for Gramps. And for you, Sky.” His eyes are so serious. They seem far too serious for the conversation we’re having.
“You can ask me questions tomorrow at dinner, if you want. And I’ll have my sisters’ permission to give you their information by then.”
He blinks and nods. I can see the reminder sweeping over him—I am his subject. Maybe a friend. But there have to be boundaries between us. Otherwise, my heart’s going to get broken. I don’t know what the consequences for Adam might be—maybe he couldn’t ethically publish his piece or something—but I’m not keen on nursing any more broken hearts.
“Sure. Sounds like a plan,” he says as we reach the parking lot. And I think it’s just my inner pessimist thinking it, maybe, but the tone of his voice sounds a bit sad as he says it.
