“You say that, but?—”
“But nothing. You have five minutes.”
I spray on a small amount of my perfume, light and airy with a hint of citrus, followed by a few swipes of vanilla lip balm.
“What if we see each other and the sparks aren’t there?” I whisper the worry that’s been eating at me in the back of my mind since this entire relationship started.
“Do you believe that? I don’t for a minute. I’ve never had a doubt you were meant to be more than a person I talk to on the phone. The sparks are there, sweetheart. Once they meet, I have a feeling we will combust.” A constant clicking sound echoes in the background. “I’m two minutes away.”
I light a warm sugar-scented candle in the living room and another in my bedroom. “I’m so excited. I’m nervous. Are you nervous?”
“Are you kidding? I’m afraid you’ll take one look at me and decide you’ve wasted your time.”
“Time can never be wasted when it comes to you,” I admit to him, stuffing my feet into my fuzzy slippers, then running out the front door, forgetting how cold the nights are now.
“I’m in the parking lot.”
The railing to the staircase is cold against my palm. My breath comes out in frozen puffs. The air around me is thin and almost hard to breathe. It stings when I inhale, my lungs unable to expand fully from the freeze.
“I’ve parked,” he announces.
On the phone and in real time, I hear a car door slam. My breath catches in my throat when I see someone step onto the sidewalk and begin to walk toward me.
“I see you,” he says.
“I see you too.” My legs have a mind of their own and begin to move to meet him in the middle.
I can hear his heavy steps, scuffs of his shoes against the concrete. My own slippers are softer, and when we’re close enough to one another, we stop about a foot apart. Both of us stunned to stillness.
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
There’s no way. No. This can’t be possible.
I’d know him anywhere. His graying hair is slightly damp from a shower and slicked back, the natural waves falling effortlessly as if he meant to style it like that. He hasn’t shaved in a few days, the stubble thick. Even in the dark, his blue eyes glow. The illumination of the streetlamps falls against his high cheekbones, the shadows sculpting his face into a more statuesque appearance.
He’s beautiful.
His gaze eats me alive. This look is different than when I met him in the conference room. Then, he was curious, interested, and playful. But now? He’s hungry. His eyes move up and down, taking his time drinking me in.
The cold fades on my skin, replaced with searing heat and desire.
“Olivia,” he growls with a lick of his lips, finally hanging up the phone, and I do the same.
God, the way he says my name.
I fall forward, and he meets me, wrapping his arms around me to pick me up. I wrap my legs around his waist, marveling at how soft his hair his, how the silver glimmers in the moonlight.
“Elias,” I whisper, his name falling from my lips. I’m stunned, and in disbelief that it’s been him all along.
His hands are wide and strong, one sliding up my back to cup my neck while the other slips around my waist, holding me tight against him.
Our eyes lock, our warm clouds of breath mingling in the cold air. I want to kiss him. I want him to kiss me. I’m not sure how much longer I can last. Every second that passes, every moment we’re frozen, staring at one another, I can’t help but think he’s changing his mind.
His eyes drop to my mouth, down my neck to my chest, then back up, eating me alive with his starved gaze.
“I’m so fucking glad it’s you,” he says with relief, as his eyes stay trained on my lips before he crashes his mouth onto mine.
The kiss is molten.
