It was like coming home after years of wandering.
Like finding a piece of myself I hadn’t known wasmissing.
Like everything I’d been so sure I’d never feel crashing into me all at once.
When we pulled apart, we were both breathing hard. My forehead rested against his, our noses almost touching, sharing the same air. His hands were still on my face, warm and steady, anchoring me to the moment.
“Sky,” he breathed.
Just my name, barely a whisper.
“I know,” I said, even though I didn’t.
Even though I had no idea what came next or what this meant or how to navigate the complete demolition of everything I’d thought I knew about myself.
All I knew in that moment was that I didn’t want to stop.
All I knew was that this—thathe—felt right in a way nothing else ever had.
“Is this okay?” I asked, suddenly uncertain. “I should have asked first. I should have—”
He kissed me again, cutting off my rambling, and I melted into it, my back now against the wall as he reversed our positions, his body pressing into mine with a confidence that made my knees weak.
When he pulled back this time, he was smiling that warm, easy smile that had been undoing me forweeks.
“Yeah,” he said. “This is okay.”
I laughed, the sound hysterical, and buried my face in his shoulder. His arms wrapped around me, holding me close, one hand cupping the back of my head, giving more comfort and safety than he would ever know. For a long moment we stood there, tangled together in my kitchen doorway, breathing each other in.
“I have no idea what I’m doing,” I admitted into his shirt.
“That makes two of us.”
“I’ve never . . . with a guy, I mean. I’ve never even kissed—”
“I know.” His hand rubbed soothing circles on my back. “We don’t have to figure everything out tonight.”
I pulled back enough to look at him, at the warm eyes I’d been trying not to notice for weeks, at the curve of his smile, and the way he looked at me like I was something precious, something worth waiting for.
“I’m scared,” I said.
“Me, too.”
“What if I mess this up?”
“Then we clean up a mess.” He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, the gesture tender. “I’m notgoing anywhere, remember? I told you that.”
He had said that.
Several times.
I’d thought it was something people said, thought he’d meant he wasn’t leaving the bar, that he’d be there with my favorite order and drinks when I came back from hockey trips.
Fuck me.
I knew that’s not what he’d meant. I was just too thick or ignorant or whatever to recognize it at the time.
Or too scared.
