‘Alright.’ Jordan’s voice finally interrupts my thoughts, the first I’ve heard it since Amato’s. It’s a notch quieter than usual.She hikes her purse over her shoulder before leaning over to press a gentle kiss to my cheek. It’s so soft, it feels like a mirage – a phantom sensation.
I get out of the car and open the passenger door for her. Our shoes clopping on the driveway are the only sound for a moment, and then the sharp punctuation of the closing door.
‘I’ll see you Monday.’ She gives me a hesitant wave, pausing for a moment as if she’s trying to make up her mind, and then starts the walk towards the guest cottage.
‘See you Monday!’ I call out like a total idiot. God. I bury my face in a hand with an embarrassed groan that she’s now out of earshot to hear. Has it been this long since I’ve opened the Pandora’s box of emotions I shoved under my bed when Charlotte left? I run our conversation from Amato’s in my mind over and over like a tape. Run, rewind. Did I say something I shouldn’t have? Upset her in some way?
I pop open the driver’s door. I’m about to slide into the car and call it good – just forget about the weird tangle of feelings in my chest, deal with it tomorrow – when a big drop of water plops onto my cheek, right where Jordan had kissed me.
No way.
Another droplet hits my forehead, and then another on my hand. Another. Another. And all at once, the water pounds down onto the concrete, onto the exterior of my car, as the sky protests. As for what it’s protesting, I can only guess.
I’m already starting to feel my shirt stick to my chest as I shut the door to my car and run. My white shoes splash water all around my ankles, but I couldn’t care less.
‘JORDAN!’
She’s at the door of the guesthouse, squinting through therain, just about ready to head inside when she sees what I can only assume is my dumbass looking like a wet dog. From the end of the sidewalk, over the thunder of the clouds above us, I yell a mangled, ‘I didn’t mean it!’
She just shakes her head, pushing a wet curl from her face. She takes a step down from the little front stoop and back out into the rain, which has made her orange dress cling to her, heavy with water. ‘Didn’t mean what?’ she yells back.
‘To hurt you!’
Am I tripping, or is she laughing? She looks away, a hand pressed to her face, for just a moment. Definitely a laugh. I can see it from the corner of her mouth that her hand doesn’t cover, can tell from the dimple that etches itself in her cheek. Then, removing her hand, Jordan shouts, ‘You idiot!’
‘So I did do something?’ My voice doesn’t do enough to rise above the rain. Is this a joke? Is there some inside joke I totally missed?
She rushes down the rest of the steps and on down the sidewalk. I start to close the distance so she doesn’t have to do all the running, but she beats me. Her lips crash into mine, her arms pulling me close, mine finding her waist and holding her to me. Her hair smells like fresh flowers and melon-scented shampoo. Her dress sticks to my shirt, and our bodies press flush against one another. The pounding rain syncs with the blood thumping behind my ears. Even with all our clothes soaked, I can feel the cold kiss from her rings against my skin.
Jordan pulls apart with a soft smile. I push a sopping-wet curl behind her ear intently, and she takes my hand in hers.
As quiet as her voice is, I hear every word clear as day. ‘You did do something. You understood.’
No one’s ever taken the thoughts right from my head the way she just did.
I know it was hard for her to talk about all of that. God, of course it was. No child should ever have to go through it. But I also know what it feels like to force those words out. To talk about something you’ve hidden behind hard work all your life. To shred your heart apart and admit to the pressure.
So, yeah. She understood, too.
Which is the moment where, as I watch the rain drip down her face, trickle down her freckled nose, and off her jaw, I realize that none of this – Amato’s, our conversation, this – is casual any more. Nothing about it ever was. The tentative energy radiating off both of us. The understanding. We’re well past casual now. If we do this, we cross a line we can’t uncross.
We could talk about it. And, in a way, we do.
When I close the door to the guesthouse behind us, and I kiss her, it’s different, deeper. No frenzy, just feeling, the faint taste of limoncello on both our lips. Her face in my hands, the pads of my thumbs at her jaw. Her fingers trace the silver chain of my St Sebastian medallion before undoing the buttons of my shirt, one by one, and I shrug it off with a little extra effort owing to the water-soaked fabric trying to cling to my skin.
I find the bow in the back of her damp dress. Her eyes meet mine as she pulls away, pleading, endless, and she nods.
I pull it loose. I drink in the arch of her back and the curve of her hips. I dip my head and press a kiss to her shoulder, letting the ruffles of the dress slip away, before moving to her other shoulder. The dress slowly falls to her feet in a pile of orange.
She’s perfect, every inch of her. The gently defined muscles, the tan lines crisscrossing her back, the diamond piercing inher navel, the scar above her right knee. My fingers trace their way down her spine, down the cursive of her tattoo.No rain, no flowers, woven with sprigs of lavender. I’ve seen the ink before, but this time, I feel like I’m seeing her at her rawest. Her most radiant.
‘Beautiful,’ I whisper before our lips meet again, so she knows, so she understands. Our bodies find the soft cushion of the bed, mine above hers, and I quickly unbutton my jeans, leaving them behind in favour of feeling more of her.
She takes my face in her hands, and a glowing smile lights hers up. She mouths, ‘So are you.’
The rain still patters down on the windows all around us in a steady staccato beat. My grip on her hips is tight and unyielding, and something in my world changes completely. We’ve done this before, but not like this. Not the tenderness with which my hands wander across her every plane, the slow roll of her body against mine, the way our fingers mesh against her skin, and my name escapes her on breaths, fleeting and yet permanent. I can feel every wave rock her as it builds up in both of us, the rise and fall of our chests quickening, her gentle whimpers turning into moans.
Some people call it as rare as a blue moon, but we ride the high side by side, our bodies clenching in sync, our hearts thudding away together, and then the crash. She presses a kiss to my chest, her breaths quivering, eyelashes fluttering. Her hair fans out across my shoulder in dark waves. The sheets are tangled around her.
