“Thanks, but if it doesn’t work out, it won’t be the end of the world. If this is where I’m supposed to be right now, then this is where I’m supposed to be.” He sounds settled, certain, and not bitter.
“My grandma said the same thing to me the night after I got here. If my parents think this is where I should be, then maybe itiswhere I should be.”
At the time, it sounded like a cop-out, an easy bandage to put over the gaping wound of my neglect. But standing here, drinking Hector in, I believe it may be true. My parents, unlikely conduits through which some higher power works, sent me here for a reason. To learn something, maybe, but also to bear witness to whatever this is between us. Weeks ago, I never would have believed this to be possible. I’m not sure I would’ve evenwantedit to be possible. Now, it feels…inevitable, almost.
“Maybe we’re both where we should be, even if it’s not where we would be if we could be where we wanted to be,” he says.
“Wait,what?” I ask. My brain is still blurry. “That’s too many similar words smashed together to process at once.”
He stands up straighter and says, “This should be easy to process since everyone else sees it… I have feelings for you, dude.”
I’m taken aback by his bluntness, but before I lose my courage, I blurt out my own piece. “I have feelings for you too.” The heaviness of that truth becomes a third person standing beside us, an omnipresent observer.
“Okay.” He breathes out, relief loosening his shoulders. “Well, what I’m saying is that—God, I hope this doesn’t sound horribly cheesy, but I think we’re both stuck here for a reason. At first, I thought it was a bad reason. That you were some sort of punishment in a pair of hot-pink pants, but then we talked and kissed and you werenotwhat I expected, and suddenly it was a good reason. A really good reason. But then, I don’t know, we hooked up…” There’s a long fragile silence where his flighty fingers fiddle with the drawstrings on the purple hoodie beneath his coat. “It was my first in a long time. It meant something to me. I didn’t expect it to, but it did. Itdoes.”
I sigh, wistful. “It means something to me too.”
“Okay, well, it didn’t make me feel great when you ditched me at the college afterward,” he says, voicing an upset I should’ve seen. “I know I should’ve said something sooner, but…”
“No.” I stop him. “Full disclosure, I was anxiety spiraling after what happened in the storage unit.” His eyes are glistening coins flipped over to show his concern. “Not like that. It’s just because of how overwhelming and amazing it was. I needed that alone time with Noelle to calm down. It wasn’t you. I promise.”
My unfiltered explanation reassures him enough that he reaches out. Just a light touch, enough to brush a hair out of my eyes, but it cracks me open a little more.
I don’t know if it’s the honesty or the alcohol or that I’m finally letting myself buy into the infectious jolliness of Christmas again, but whatever the case, I unwrap my sweeping feelings. The best gift I could give this year. “This—what we have—feels real and I don’t want to let that go. Not for a second. So, if you’re willing to be patient with me, I have aproposition,” I say. He meets my gaze with curiosity and a dash of underlying seduction. “I’m going to kiss you again now, and if this kiss still feels like the last ones, I think we should make a deal right here that we forget about our past relationships, our parents, the whole works, and we have fun with this.”
“Do you really mean that, dude?” he asks.
“I really mean that,dude.” God, how hasdudebecome the sexiest term of endearment ever?
He shakes his head as the song changes to something by Ella Fitzgerald. I think he might dismiss this, dismiss me. Instead, he does something entirely off script. He grabs each of my elbows and pulls me in.
It catches me off guard, but I settle into it. My lips are slightly chapped and my cheeks are ice cold, but the heat that shoots through my body is stronger than any drink could ever be.
His palms slide down my arms and into my waiting, cradled hands.
His breath tickles my lip for a second, dangerously close.
“Let’s do it,” he whispers, and then we crash together.
With the music blasting and my heart racing, his lips part, allowing my tongue to slip inside and taste the salty sweetness of his mouth. It’s like we’re trying desperately to merge on the molecular level, any space between us wasted. His five-o’clock shadow is soft from beard oil underneath my touch. My stomach swoops.
“Just as good as the last ones?” he asks of the kiss, pulling back and searching my face for confirmation.
I shake my head. “Better.”
Chapter 25
“Welcome to A Very Fine Vine. We’re so glad you could join us,” says Christina, Siena’s older sister and the head chef. She’s got wavy hair that’s pulled back with a sleek black scrunchie and a professional, close-lipped smile.
The place is mostly empty since this is a dinner-only establishment and it’s barely noon. A couple of employees leisurely prepare for the nighttime rush, restocking stations and folding napkins into fancy four-point masterpieces. Though this outing is under the guise of planning, we both dressed up nicer. Hector even smells like a woodsy spritz of cologne.
I believe this is our second date, and IbelieveI’m giddy about it. God help me.
The decor is exposed concrete walls with cracks painted on where glorious vines slither out in different directions. It’s not all that different from the kind of award-winning, month-long-waitlist place you can find on nearly every street corner in the Village.
“Hello again.” Siena sets the tasting menu on the table: three starters, three entrees, and two choices of dessert. Siena has taken the liberty of bringing us two wooden flight paddles of the corresponding wines, which she assures us are all imported from the rolling hills of Tuscany where their family originated. “Thank you for considering us for this opportunity. We’ve always wanted to work the gala, but Jack was very set in his ways. It’s nice to have this chance, especially since they’re honoring the Small Business Association, which is imperative to the support and growth of our restaurant.” Siena pivots to Hector. “Have you dined with us before?”
“I have. Always delicious,” Hector says. He flushes a little. He’s probably remembering meals he shared with Natalia here. After last night and her quasi blessing, that’s more than okay. We both have our histories. Pretending won’t make moving forward any easier.
