The weather’s the exact and total opposite of last night, all clear blue sky and almost warm sun. Almost. Which means I’m all bundled up in that coat of Jesse’s that he keeps loaning me and that I secretlyneverwant to give back. At least, not until it loses the last traces of his citrusy-cinnamon-and-Jesse smell.
And then, I’ll only want to give it back to him until he’s gone and gotten the coat smelling like himself all over again.
Maybe it’s the nice weather, or maybe this place is justalways packed, but everywhere, from the street outside to every last corner of the market, is crammed full of people. It’s loud and chaotic and crowded with movement and colors and smells, and I love that it’s totally different from anywhere I’ve ever been before.
Like the tourist I am, I wander around with my sweet sunshine in tow, oohing and aahing over everything and snapping pictures on my phone like crazy. Jesse was totally right about this place giving me hella inspiration.
Trouble is though? Every chance I get, I sneak in a shot of my sunshine.
Do I want to paint pretty much every last thing I’m seeing here? Hell yeah I do. Can I gethimout of a single one of those paintings in my head? Nope. Just not happening.
A couple hours, one totally ridiculously delicious basket of fish and chips, ten mini-donuts (Jesse ate two of his half of the dozen before saying they were too sweet for him), and about a hundred photos later, I finally tuck my phone into my back pocket.
It’s buzzed several times while I’ve been snapping pics. Texts I’ve swiped right the fuck off my screen the moment they pop up.
Withheld:I fucking told you to text me back
Withheld:I know you’re getting these
Withheld:What the fuck? Text me back
Withheld:Don’t you know I’m worried about you babe?
Fuck. That.
He’s never actually worried about me once.
I’ll delete them all later, but no way am I gonna do it now and risk Jesse seeing them. I don’t want him worrying about thisshit. ‘Cause I can’t pretend like he wouldn’t worry.
And yeah, maybe I also can’t pretend like knowing that doesn’t make my heart go all skippy-leapy.
By the afternoon, we end up down at the waterfront. I make it a whole thirty seconds trying to play it cool before Jesse works out that this is the first time I’ve ever seen saltwater up close and personal.
Not gonna lie, the look in his eyes when I admit that pretty much reduces me to a puddle at his feet. Like he knows just how much it means to me to get to see this place for the first time, and like somehow, being the one to give that to me means even more to him.
So I tell him about that stupid brochure.
“It’s why I came here. Seattle, I mean,” I end, looking down at the smooth wood of the railing separating us from the drop down to the water. Water that I recognize as Jesse’s favorite color. And yeah, if I’ve gotta be honest, right now, I kinda think it might be mine too. The Google search I’d pulled up before totally hadn’t done it justice.
“I’d always wanted to see it for real, and this place is a long way from Tucson, so…”
Shit, I hope what I’ve told him didn’t make me sound stupid. Aimless. Picking a random-ass place to go based on a few pictures I saw when I was a kid—
Jesse’s warm lips on mine snuff out the thoughts running through my head as he ducks down and kisses me, deep and slow, hands in my hair, while his tongue maps out my mouth like he’s trying to memorize this moment. Like—fuck, like he’s trying to memorizeme.
By the time he pulls away, my head’s kinda spinning and there’s definitely more blood rushing between my legs than tomy brain, so when he whispers, “Thank you,” against my lips, all I can do is blink at him, shaking my head like the idiot I am. Because what the hell ishethankingmefor?
“For moving to Seattle.” He huffs out a gentle laugh. “For being here now. With me.” Another kiss. Soft this time. Sweet and short.
It’s probably a damn good thing that my throat’s all choked up and too tight to let out a single word, ‘cause I don’t trust whatever’s being held back right this moment. All I know is that that warm, too-good-to-be-true feeling is spreading through my chest like wildfire, waking up those crazy-ass butterflies and making my eyes sting at the corners.
And ‘cause I don’t want Jesse to know if that sting gets a bit carried away and turns into real-life tears, and ‘cause I’m scared shitless at what he might see written across my face right now anyway, I turn in his arms, snuggling my back against his chest and leaning my head on his shoulder.
“Tris?”
“Yeah?”
A beat. Am I just imagining that the next breath he drags in feels a little shaky against my skin?
