Covering my eyes with my palms and peeking out in between my fingers, I admit, “It’s one of my most shameful secrets.” I drop my hands and grin up at him.
Gio playfully shakes his head and a brown curl falls in front of his eye. I lace my fingers behind my back to prevent myself from reaching out and brushing it off his face.
“You know that glass is washable, right?”
“But there wasmoldon the glass, Gio. It was contaminated. Any other food I’d put in there would be mold-adjacent.”
“Of course,” he placates, grazing his fingers across my shoulders and snaking them under the apron’s collar. He gently unties the bow, the two ends hanging loosely down my back. He rests his hand on my shoulder, rubbing the bend of my neck. I close my eyes at his touch, relishing the feeling of his skin on mine.
With each brush, I feel increasingly special. Sliding his hands down toward my hips where the waist is tied, he starts undoing the bow. Shivers follow in the wake of his fingers, which appear to possess a sort of goosebump-inducing magic.
“So, why are youreallyin here?”
“With you being pulled away… they started the music, and I guess I’m just nervous. I’m kind of a terrible dancer.”
“You? In those stilettos? No,” he teases, cocking an eyebrow.
I huff and spin away from him. The loosened apron drops to the floor. Facing the garden window again, I sigh. “How does everyone in your family know how to dance so well?”
He places a hand on either side of the sink, enclosing my body with his. The heat of his chest warms my back, and the stubble of his chin brushes up against my temple. Dipping his head lower near my ear, he whispers, “You’re mistaking skill with trust. Take a closer look.”
He gently grasps my chin in his hand, slightly smooshing my cheeks in. He carefully turns my head toward Maria. “Look at Mamma. You see?”
“She looks beautiful,” I sigh. “Light as a feather… like she’s floating.”
“Look closer, Tessa. She looks like she’s floating, because she is.” His low tone of voice causes my ear to tingle.
He’s right. Roberto has lifted Maria lightly off the ground, maybe by a couple inches.
Two hands grab my waist and spin me around. Gio’s chest touches mine now, and the urge to kiss him overwhelms me. It’s undeniable that things are changing, evolving in our relationship. The air feels electrically charged between us, his touch generating sparks within the depths of my soul. It’s almost like a runner’s high, being close to him.
I want him to make long-term promises. I want him to stick around so badly.
Keep me. Like me,I chant in my head, hoping he’ll somehow hear.
Why is it so hard to be honest? Why can’t I just open my mouth and tell him how I feel? Iknowwe have feelings for each other. But the sliver of doubt I’ve stitched into the deepest crevasse of my brain, the one that whispersit’s just pretend, prevents me from revealing too much.
I don’t want to be this way, second-guessing myself, thinking the worst. But sometimes, the simple idea that someone could like me as much as I like them feels impossible to believe.
Taking a deep breath, I gaze longingly in his eyes and try to communicate my deepest desires.Kiss me for real.I want it. I want you.
He stares back at me, and for a moment, I think he understands. He looks at my parted mouth, but instead of pressing his lips to mine, he dips his head and laces our fingerstogether. Then, he guides my other hand to his waist. In this position, it’s almost like we’re…oh.
“Dance with me here?” he murmurs in my ear.
I nod, notching my head underneath his chin. We gently sway together, silently, in front of the sink. My eyes water, overwhelmed with affection for this man. All I’ve ever wanted is for someone to go out of their way for me. To be in a relationship where each person puts in emotional labor. Not just a labor of love, but a labor of vulnerability, a labor of trust.
So, we dance. The music outside sounds distant, muffled by the window. But the soundtrack inside feels loud. His breathing mixed with mine, the dripping faucet, the gentle buzz of the refrigerator.
“Gio…” I whisper.
“I know,” he replies.
“Yeah?”
I desperately hope the unspoken words between us are the same.
This isn’t pretend. Not for me.
