“I’m smart too,” she says. “My intelligence is more to do with creativity than memorizing random facts and worthless information. Not that it’s worthless to you.”
“Some of it is,” I admit.
“Do you like what you do? Because someone so smart as you, with all those degrees…high school teacher?” She raises an eyebrow skeptically. “I mean, the kids are super lucky to have you, but don’t you want to save the world? From chemical reactions or exploding foam or maybe that goo stuff that kids play with? Or maybe you could find a formula you can use to remove the smell of doggie do-do from clothing?” She tries to hide her smile behind the rest of the croissant, this one piled high with a slab of Brie.
“Very funny.”
“I think I am.” Rachel smirks. “I haven’t won you over yet.”
Hasn’t she? Because if this is what it feels like to be annoyed by her, I’m happy with the status quo.
“I didn’t start off as a teacher.” When I look down, I realize I’ve smushed half the croissant into a ball and chew it slowly, washing it down with a shot of rum.
“What did you start out as?” She stretches out on the blanket, her body small compared to mine, and pops the last of the cheese into her mouth. There are only remnants of our meal left—a few slices of peppers, crumbs of the pretzels.
I don’t even remember eating.
“I started out as a research assistant,” I begin, my gaze focused on my hands in my lap. “But soon they let me lead my own projects. And then they gave me my own lab. I did that for three years, working on two of my master’s degrees, and starting my doctorate.”
“Something happened,” she says in a hushed voice. “I can tell because you’re not looking at me, and you always make eye contact when you talk to me.”
“I had a girlfriend,” I say. “Serious, or at least I thought I was serious, but it wasn’t enough for her.”
“I can’t imagine you not being serious enough for anyone.”
“I wasn’t seriously considering marriage. Or at least that’s what she thought. So she broke up with me, after she slept with my best friend. Around the same time, my twin sister Bexley was in a car accident. It was bad—her boyfriend, also bad, had been driving while under the influence and she almost died. But she pulled through. The guy was fine, but I did some damage when I attacked him at the hospital. Luckily, he was too messed up about Bexley to charge me, or I’d never have been able to teach. When all that was going on, the main experiment I was doing for my doctorate failed miserably—an epic fail, I guess you can call it. There was an explosion in the lab,” I finish, breathing heavily.
“Oh,Boen,” Rachel moans.
“Yeah. I took a leave, took some time to clear my head. I had a breakdown,” I say in a rush. “I guess that’s what you call it.”
She reaches for my hand and presses it. “No one could blame you with all that going on.”
“Yeah.” I chance a glance at her, expecting disappointment or even a patronizing smile. Instead, Rachel’s gaze is softly direct, her eyes wide with sympathy, not pity, and she’s worrying her bottom lip with very white teeth.
“Why did you say I had a very nice mouth?”
That’s the last thing I expected her to say. “Pardon?”
Rachel sits up, her gaze never leaving my face. “Did you want to kiss it? Kiss me?”
I can only nod. I’ve never confessed to anyone about my past; never felt comfortable or brave enough. And I’ve definitely never expected a confession to lead to a discussion about kissing.
“I’ve thought about kissing you every time I’ve seen you,” she admits with a half-laugh. “Along with apologizing for being rude. I should have done that. The first night I met you, I was upset and a little pumped up. I’d broken into my ex girlfriend’s apartment and—”
“You broke into an apartment?”
“Long story, and not as bad as it seems.”
“That’s helpful, but still alarming.”
“I’m very helpful when it comes to needing to be inside someplace. But that’s beside the point. I want to apologize, but I think I’d rather kiss you instead.”
My mouth loses all moisture and I have to lick my lips. Rachel’s gaze never leaves my mouth.
“Would that be okay?” she asks, sounding more like she’s invited me over to meet her dog. Which would not be okay, but kissing her—
I feel the need to clarify. “Would it be okay for you to kiss me?”
