“Seriously, though.” He sobers up, turning his attention fully to me. “I’ve felt much better. I can’t thank you enough.”
I hold his gaze and nod, unexpectedly getting emotional. Oliver accepting help is massive, and it both touches on challenging memories and makes me grateful. The more I see of this new him, the more the images of the past fade and blow away, dust in the wind. He’s taking a new shape, a phoenix rising from the ashes, still the same but wiser than in his last incarnation.
He’s more relaxed tonight than I’ve seen him all this winter, playfully exchanging stories with Niall about their childhood years. A few times he catches my eye and grins, a smile meant justfor me. I return the gesture, my heart full of the kind of certainty I wasn’t sure I would ever feel again.
“Can I walk you home?” He asks, once the plates are in the dishwasher and Sophie pushed a container of leftovers into my hands.
“I’d like that.” My hummingbird heartbeat starts up again, the result of the promise of being alone with him, even if it is on the street.
After saying goodbye to Niall and Sophie—who exchange a look that suggests they know exactly what’s happening between us—we step onto the salted walkway. The cold hits immediately, making me burrow deeper into my coat. Many of the houses still have Christmas decorations up, and the red and green lights mark our path down the block. Our breath forms clouds in the frigid air, and I can hear the distant sound of someone scraping ice off their windshield.
Oliver’s hand brushes mine as we walk, tentative at first. I look up at the same time as he does, our eyes catching in the glow of a neighbor’s elaborate light display. Without words, he takes my hand properly, intertwining our fingers. His hand is warm despite the cold, and I can feel calluses from years of holding a hockey stick.
“Thank you for inviting me to dinner,” I say.
He nods once. “I’m glad you could come.” His gaze stays on me, but it doesn’t feel like he’s waiting for a response or studying me. It’s more like he’s appreciating the view.
I frown slightly.
“What?” He asks.
“We’ve been out here by ourselves for a whole minute, and we haven’t kissed?—”
He doesn’t give me a chance to finish. His mouth takes mine, hungry and possessive, the kind of kiss that’s saved for dark streets and no-regrets risk-taking. I gasp at the intensity of it as it drains me of all thought and leaves my legs weak and shaking.The cold air forgotten, heat races through me as his tongue traces the seam of my lips.
“Wow,” I murmur when his mouth finally eases away, my lips tingling from both his kiss and the winter air.
“My thoughts exactly.”
We start walking again, ice and snow crunching beneath our boots. Words would be an unnecessary distraction, a blight on this perfect chunk in space and time. A car drives by slowly, its headlights illuminating the falling snowflakes like tiny diamonds. Too soon, we’re in front of my house, the front porch light beckoning us closer.
I don’t move a muscle. Neither does he.
“Come in?” I squeak out.
He hesitates, the wanting there, flashing in his eyes like a neon blinking light. “I want to... But I still stand by what I said. I want to take things slow. Not fuck this up again. If I get my hands on you, slow is the last thing I’ll be.”
I swallow hard. “I don’t want to fuck it up either. You said that we need to work on things when they come up, not use sex as a quick fix.”
“Yes.” His thumb brushes along my cheek.
“Well.” I lick my lips. “What if we agree to commit to that? Whenever an issue arises, we’ll be honest and talk it out. Does that still mean that we can’t...”
“Devin,” he hisses, his tongue turning my name into a forbidden plea.
“I want you, Oliver.” I lift my chin, staring deep into his eyes. “I promise that I won’t keep things to myself. I’ll tell you how I’m feeling, I’ll tell you what I think.”
His hand slides to the back of my neck. “You don’t need to say another word.”
That’s good, because I’m slowly losing control of my mental capacities. My body is in charge, lips rushing to Oliver’s and my hands clutching at his jacket. The kiss is unbridled and rawenough to tempt me towards the crazy idea of just pushing him onto the snowy yard and climbing on top of him right then and there.
The inside warmth will be so perfect, though, the promise of being able to shed our clothes so alluring. We rush inside, where we laugh as we unromantically unlace our boots and unbutton our jackets. The simple task of removing winter layers takes comically long when you’re trying to kiss someone at the same time.
The second the first layer is off, though, we’re kicked into warp speed. The path to my bedroom becomes strewn with clothing—his henley lands on the back of the couch, my sweater drapes over a lamp. We bump into walls as we undress each other, laughing breathlessly at our eagerness. I trip over my own jeans and he catches me, both of us giggling like teenagers.
We collapse onto the bed together and his warmth wraps around me, a familiar cocoon of safety and comfort. His fingers run through my hair, gentle now, working out the tangles from our frantic journey here.
I wind my arms around his back, my fingers sinking into the tight muscles there. He feels like the most cherished memory and the most exciting fresh start all at once. He’s here. He’s mine.
