“Yeah. Smells delicious. Your favorite meal?”
Nodding, she smiles shyly and backs away from the door—both of us realizing we’re still standing in the doorway of the apartment.
“Want something to drink?” The polite dance we’re both doing is bordering on ridiculous, but we continue to play along.
“Sure, whatever you’re having. I’ll just head out to the deck.” I don’t wait for a reply, and she doesn’t offer one. Maybe we’re both over the absurdity of our pleasantries.
Ever brings two glasses of water outside and sits in the empty chaise, setting the glasses on the table between us. Tracking her movements in my periphery, I make myself calmly fold my hands over my lower abs and cross my ankles on the foot of the lounger. I take a breath from deep in my diaphragm and mentally clock the colors of tonight’s sunset. Deep blue, purple, dark pink, burnt orange, golden yellow—almost every color. I want to hug her. Hold her hand. Pick her up and snuggle her into my lap. Feel her curl into me like she was made for it. And wasn’t she? But I can’t get ahead of myself. She asked me here to talk. I reel my shit in and wait. Another deep breath. Exhale.She loves me.
Chapter 33
Everly
That clean sandalwood scent—not too spicy, not too sweet. Equal parts clean skin, fresh air and just manly enough to make my mouth water. I want to touch him, hug him, kiss him. I tuck my hands under my legs, stretching them out on the chaise lounge. I could use a sip of the water I just brought out for us, but I don’t trust my hands not to reach for him. I need to say what I asked him here to say.
“So beautiful tonight.” The sky is brimming with so many colors and designs, it brings tears to my eyes. In some ways this makes me feel like the oldest eighteen-year-old on the planet. Like maybe only those who have come face-to-face with the fragility of life can stop and appreciate the simple gift of a setting sun. God willing, that usually means a bit more age and experience before you get to that place. Most of us race through life from one stress-inducing self-imposed deadline to another, never stopping to appreciate the last deadline met. Or have the luxury of stressing over minor things, like wrong coffee orders and stolen parking spots—something my dad was always quick to point out when he was home. I remember the sky the day we buried him. Itwas angry and gray, the air warm and muggy, but right after the service, the sun broke through the clouds and set the sky on fire.
I also remember the sky the day I read the words carelessly posted about me by malicious girls out of misplaced loyalty. That day I thought, just for a split second, maybe things would be easier without me here. The sun dipped behind a cloud in that exact moment, and the sky darkened before it began to pop back out. It sent beams shooting across the sky in camera-worthy vibes—no filter needed. It was so beautiful and bright it stung my eyes and allowed me to breathe.
His words pull me out of my introspection.
“It is.”
I turn my head toward him, where my eyes fix on the deep penetrating blue of his. He’s not looking at the sunset. He’s looking at me. Tears sting behind my eyes. I blink as much to ward them off as to break the spell of his gaze.Spit it out, Ev.
“I . . . um . . .” Dr. Franklin, my high school counselor, once told me the trick to curbing nerves when speaking is to unload the thing in the forefront of your mind. Confess it to your audience and get them on your side. Of course, she meant for public speaking, and why it popped into my head now, I couldn’t say. Except that the nerves feel the same.
He’s watching me patiently, calmly.
I take a deep breath, blow it out through puffed cheeks and say the thing in the forefront of my mind. “I . . . love you.” I exhale with the admission.
“I know.” One dimple peeks out before he schools his expression into calm reserve again.
Looking down at my fidgeting hands, I continue before I lose myself in that glimpse of a dimple. “So much that I . . . I’m concerned I . . . I need to be okay with or without you.” I pause to see if he’ll say anything. He doesn’t. “I know I have nothing to compare it to, but what we have”—I wag my finger between us, looking up into his face still composed and fixed on me—“is so good, I almost can’t describe it with words. Maybe that’s why we . . .” I look back down at my hands, purposely flatten them on my thighs and go on. “I’m trying to be sincere here, but . . . do it like rabbits.”
His sharp bark of laughter kicks my eyes to his. The flame in my cheeks travels down my neck and settles on my chest. He stifles his laugh immediately at my blush, but the corners of his eyes reflect his amusement. Once his expression completely sobers, he still waits, quietly tapping his fingers on his chest.
“I don’t like feeling insecure and . . . jealous. Or like I could lose you at any moment. I think the only way for me to battle that is to . . . feel more confident in who I am.” I take a breath and add, “On my own.” If I wasn’t looking directly at him, I might have missed the panic. But I was looking, despite it flashing through his eyes like a streak of lightning and disappearing just as quickly. It gives me the boost of confidence I need to continue. “I don’t want to lose you. Or us.” I wag my finger between us again, prompting a slight nod from him. Encouraged, I forge on. “Can we . . . would you . . .” I trail off, unsure of myself again. “I’ve never done this before.” I grimace on a shaky exhale.
He reaches his hand across the table between us and lays his palm lightly on the back of my hand but doesn’t speak.
I turn my hand over automatically, lace my fingers with his and squeeze. “I want to date,” I announce.
His eyebrows disappear under the longer strands of hair dusting his forehead.
Rushing on, I add, “I want to live here, and you live there.” I gesture toward Allie’s. “And we . . .”
“Date,” he finishes for me when I pause too long, squeezing my hand. Then he lifts our joined hands and kisses the back of mine, relief etched in every detail of his body.
Every cell in my body exhales—his touch like oxygen.
“Yeah.” I smile softly.
“Okay.” He mirrors my smile, still holding the back of my hand and resting it on his cheek.
“Okay?” My eyebrows arch, my lips slightly agape.
His low chuckle tells me my answer as he sandwiches my hand in both of his. But he adds, “Yeah.” He glances out at the now almost black sky. The night sounds of frogs and crickets grow louder, the stars brighter. “To be fair, I’ve never done this either.”
