“Such a big word.” I kiss her hand. I can’t stop myself.
“I’m leaving for Europe in six months.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“What about medical school?” Her hand goes slack in mine.
“Okay, I’ll come visit you.”
“What if I don’t come back?”
“We’ll worry about that when the time comes.” I kiss her wrist, where her heartbeat thunders beneath my lips.
“Steven, I…” her words trail off as her eyes finally meet mine. I can see a world of life in them, a life she desires, a life she’s longing for. And it’s not here. Something inside me aches. Whether it’s from rejection or guilt, I’m not sure.
“Give me six months.” I release her wrist and push her long hair behind her shoulders. Her Van Halen t-shirt looks like it’s been chopped with kitchen scissors, slouching off one shoulder. My fingers trace over her skin, and heat moves through me at the contact. “Let me have six months with you, Emma Bailey. Then you can jet off to a new life.”
Her eyes search mine, probably for some kind of loophole. I wish I had one. But I don’t. I have nothing to offer this woman but my heart. And if after six months it’s not enough, I won’t blame her for wanting to move on. I’d do the same. But something about the way her green eyes flickerat me and the way her chest heaves each time I touch her tells me it might be just enough.
When she doesn’t answer, I reach up and cradle her face in my hands, letting my thumbs trace the line of her jaw. My touch is gentle but also desperate.
I’ve never been one to beg, but I’m about halfway to dropping to my knees for this woman. “Please, Emma.”
“Do it, Em!”
We whip around to see her group of friends we thought had left lingering in the foyer, wide-eyed and grinning like this is the art show they’ve been waiting for.
“Yeah, Emma,” one of the hippie bros chimes in, “get yours!”
“This could be a once-in-a-lifetime kind of love,” another friend shouts.
Emma turns beet red and groans, burying her face in my chest.
“Is that a yes?” I laugh, my fingers now lost in her hair.
“I don’t know,” she says, smirking as she tugs at a loose strand, twirling it around her finger like it’s nothing. Like she’s not actively unraveling my self-control. She’s enticing.Tempting. A menace in denim shorts. “I think I need a grand gesture,” she muses.
I blink. “A grand gesture?”
“Oh, come on, you know what I mean!” She throws her arms out wide, motioning to the open space around us, like it’s a stage I haven’t stepped onto yet. “I need something big!”
I arch a brow, feeling pretty confident that she’s already in. Grand gesture or not, I could walk away right now, and I’m pretty sure she’d follow. I know it. She knows it. I’d take two steps and she’d be right behind me, grinning like she planned it that way all along. But the way her green eyes glint, alive with challenge and possibility, makes me feel like some small part of her needs to believe I’ll go all in.
I want her to know she’s worth the grand gesture. All of them. I need tomake this count.
So I say, “Fine, I’ll give you the best damn gesture you’ve ever seen in your life.”
Her smile spreads, slow and devilish, and she does this little shoulder shimmy that hits sends a whoosh through my chest.
I amsoscrewed.
“Wait right here,” I tell her, planting a quick kiss to her forehead before I jog over to her friends.
They greet me like they’ve been waiting for this. My five-foot-ten frame in athletic shorts and a stained orange t-shirt sticks out like a sore thumb among their floaty clothes and wild hair, but they don’t care.
“Do you have a speaker?” I ask. One materializes like magic. Their giddy smiles give me the silent pep talk I need as they shove me back toward Emma.
Confusion and barely concealed excitement are all over my face as she watches me fight my tangled iPod headphones, finally yanking them it and connecting it to the speaker. My hands are shaking. My heart’s pounding. I have no idea where to start. By the door? The stairs? The table?
