We take our treats outside, seeking out a bench near yet another water fountain.
"I love that sound," I say, tipping my head back and closing my eyes, a bite of ice cream melting on my tongue. When I open my eyes, I find Owen's gaze piercing into me, leaving no room for me to wonder what he's thinking.
"I wish you'd gotten ugly," he whispers.
"What? Why?" I ask, my tongue coming out to lick at the corners of my lips. There isn't any ice cream there; it's anticipation I feel.
"Because now I have to do this." He tosses his half-eaten cone into a nearby trash can and gently cups my cheeks with his palms.
His lips are soft, searching, and I yield to him automatically, offering myself without reservation. As our tongues sweep against each other, heat pools between my legs. Our kiss is cold, and tastes like sugar and absolution.
When Owen pulls away, he drags his lips across my skin. "Do you want to come home with me?" His invitation, his smell, his tone of voice, they are enough for me to get drunk on.
"Yes," I murmur into the summer air.
Hopefully, this chastity jumper is about to get torn off me.
Owen kisses me again, stealing all my breath, until my hand turns into a sticky mess from melting ice cream.
* * *
"I feellike you're a real adult,” I muse, looking out the car window at Owen’s house.
We've just pulled into the half-circle driveway and he’s cut the car’s engine. He owns his own house, a nice house in the good part of town, and it’s weird to think of Owen with a mortgage.
Owen throws a smile at me. "And you're not? You moved to Manhattan. Youstayedin Manhattan. Until now."
I guess that does seem pretty adult-ish of me. I certainly felt like an adult striding around the office, working late hours, climbing the ladder. But then I come back to Sedona, jobless, and back to square one. Owen has a career and a house. What's next? A family? Judging by the size of this place, that's the next step in a natural direction.
"True," I agree, peering out the windshield at Owen's house. It's a beautiful home in uptown, close enough to the shops and Main Street, but not too close. Like Goldilocks, it's just right.
"Do you want to come inside? I have wine. Or not. Whatever you want." Owen's hands splay the air between us. "Shit, I’m nervous," he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Hey." My fingers find his thigh, pushing down until he looks over at me. "I want a glass of wine. Inside. Preferably with a view of the stars, if you have it."
Preferably with you naked and doing that yummy finger stuff from before.
His face softens, his frustration melting away. “I can do all that.”
He climbs from his car, and as he’s rounding the back, I flip open the visor mirror and do a quick check. My door opens and Owen's palm hangs in the open space, offering to help me out. Grabbing my purse, I take his offered hand.
He pulls me from the open door and closes it behind me, spinning me around once, slowly.
"Were you always such a gentleman?" I tease.
He was. Always. But I’d forgotten.
I let go of his hand, only to loop my arm through his, and we walk up the steps to his front door.
"I don't think so," he replies, pulling his keys from his pocket. "I was a horny teenager who only wanted one thing."
My shoulders shake with quiet laughter. "How is that different from right now?"
The lock slides out of its spot, and the sound is thunderous. Or is it my heart that I hear, beating away furiously in my chest?
Owen's eyes find mine, and they are so full. Of longing, concern, and a primal hunger. We are stuck here on the threshold, balancing on a precipice, dangerously close to falling over.
I don't know what tomorrow will bring. I don't have next steps. I've left behind my job and my life in NYC to come home and care for my mother, and instead I’ve found my old life waiting right where I left it.
