Her eyes widen in mock horror, her whole face transforming into exaggerated shock. "Oh! Well, I take that back. You're ancient."
I laugh. The sound startles out of me before I can control it. "Careful."
She grins, dimples flashing. "Decrepit. Practically one foot in the grave already."
"I can still take you over my knee," I warn, but I can't help smiling at the mischief dancing in her eyes.
"Promises, promises," she shoots back, then blushes furiously when she realizes what she just said.
The food arrives before I can respond, steaming plates of perfection.
We share everything, passing plates back and forth. My fork stealing carnitas from her plate. Her fingers reaching for my al pastor. Grease on our fingers. Lime juice sharp and bright on our tongues. The cilantro fresh and green and alive.
She's smiling again, her whole face lit up with simple pleasure. Just enjoying good food and good company and a moment of peace.
I can't hold back anymore.
Don't want to hold back anymore.
I reach across the small table, my hand finding the back of her neck, fingers sliding into her hair. Pull her toward me across the space that separates us.
Kiss her.
Her lips are soft. Warm. She tastes like lime and cilantro and horchata, sweet and bright and perfect. She opens for me immediately, no hesitation, her mouth welcoming mine.
My tongue slides against hers and she makes a small sound in the back of her throat that goes straight through me.
The kiss is long. Deep. Everything I've been holding back for weeks pouring into this single point of contact. All the want and need and desperate hope I've been trying to bury because men like me don't get things this good.
When we break apart, we're both breathing hard. Her eyes are dark, pupils blown wide. Her lips are pink and slightly swollen.
"You had sauce," I say, my voice rough. "On the corner of your mouth. Wanted to make sure I got it all."
She's breathing hard too, chest rising and falling rapidly. "I don't think you got it all."
So I kiss her again.
This time she's laughing against my mouth, the sound vibrating between us. I'm laughing too, giddy in a way I haven't felt since I was young and stupid and believed happiness was something you could hold onto.
And for the first time in fifteen years, I let myself believe that maybe, just maybe, the dream didn't die completely after all.
Maybe it's just been waiting. Waiting for the right person. The right moment. The right reason to hope again.
Maybe it's been waiting for her.
19
LILY
I can't sleep.
The sheets twist around my legs no matter how many times I kick them loose. The pillow is too flat, then too thick, then positioned wrong no matter which way I turn it. I've been lying here for hours in the dark, staring at the ceiling and watching shadows shift across the smooth surface as clouds pass in front of the moon outside my window.
Everything that happened today plays on loop in my mind, unavoidable and relentless.
My carefully constructed plan to take a step back, to reassert professional distance, to protect myself from feelings that were getting too complicated and too dangerous. The decision I made after a sleepless night spent analyzing every moment, every touch, every look until I convinced myself that distance was the only safe option.
It backfired spectacularly.
