And now it’s just the two ofus.
He’s watching me watch him, a little smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
I push up onto my toes, wind my arms around his neck until my wrists hook around my elbows, securing him into place.
I’ve been waiting all night to do this again, and from the way his arm curls around me, I think he hastoo.
His right arm glides up my back until his hand closes around the back of my neck, and then we’re kissing.
He kisses me like we have all the time in the world, and like we’re the only two people in the world here to do it. Everything about him feels so nice and so easy and so good, likekissing is the most obvious thing we could be doing and every part of him just effortlessly clicks together with every part of me. This is the later he promised me earlier. It’s finally here.
“You know,” he says, pulling just far enough away to speak. “I live really close to here.”
“Youdo?”
“Yeah.”
“Where?”
His dimple peeps. “Over there.”
I feel, rather than see, where he points to, somewhere behindme.
“What, like, across the street?”
He nods. I burst out laughing.
“You’re not serious.”
“Do you honestly think that I would joke at a time like this?”
“Is that why you picked this restaurant?”
“You said you wanted a spot in Brooklyn.”
“Are you inviting me to your apartment?”
He stares at me steadily. Nods. He knows what I’m asking. I nod my agreement.
I lean forward and peck his lips. “Then let’sgo.”
—
Connor wasn’t exaggerating when he said he livedjust over there.We can see the front door of his building from the street corner.
It’s one of those nights that hints that summer’s coming. Though it’s past ten, the neighborhood is filled with the pleasant buzz of happy people starting their weekends, and we amble up to his apartment complex, an old industrial building of gray stone that’s been redeveloped into a condominium.
His hand catches mine just as we reach the awning over the glass front doors, and he leads me inside, through the paneled lobby past the doorman, Joe, who he stops to introduce me to, then into the elevators and up to the eighth floor. We walk down to the end of a gray corridor, each door painted the same shade of navy blue, matching the skirting that runs along the perimeter.
When we get to his apartment, he fishes his keys out from his jacket pocket, unlocking the door and holding it open for me to pass through. I step inside but am greeted with nothing but darkness. I wait patiently while he closes the door and reaches around me to flick on the light.
I stand there for a moment, taking in my surroundings, then peek over my shoulder.
“Go ahead,” Connor says, one side of his mouth kickingup.
I need no further invitation to snoop.
We’re in a small corridor, with doors on the left and right. The end of the hall opens out into the main living space, a modernish-looking loft conversion with a vaulted ceiling and warm wooden floors.
