“Nah, it’s okay,” he says, checking his new jacket to make sure it’s holding up. “It’s just water—it won’t ruin anything.”
And how true that is. Water doesn’t ruin anything. It rejuvenates everything.
All along, I’ve equated fire with desire. I’ve built love up to be the flames, the burning, the ashes. I’ve idolized destruction in the name of passion. Gravitated toward the color red because I thought it was romance. But the truth is that love is the clear, blue water, washing over me after a long, long drought.
I don’t need to tell this to Rory. Words alone wouldn’t mean much to him. I just need my actions to show him that I understand. That I can finally see him and me and us without my blinders on.
We look at each other, and it’s the most magical eye contact of my entire life. Not because of the whimsy fantasy of what it might be, but because of the sturdy fact of what itis. Of how he’s seeing straight through all my walls and veneers, into all the parts of me I thought I’d never want to share with anyone. The flaws and fears, the mistakes and regrets, the splotches of sin and selfishness andgreed. And the good stuff too. The caring core, the resilient hope within me that good will triumph over evil, the resurrected belief in happy endings and the sureness in my soul that I want to be with him in this moment and all the ones to come.
Rory sees everything exactly as it is. Exactly asIam. And instead of it making him retreat or rethink, it just makes him come closer. “Can I … kiss you?” he asks with the innocence of a teenager and the intentionality of an adult.
“You can do, kind sir,” I say, faux accent returning with youthful merriment.
Smiling at ourselves and the situation and how we’re both a bit unsure what to do, we lean into each other, hesitating to make sure we’re lined up right.
Our lips touch. We try it out tenderly, giving each other the grace to acknowledge that it’s not the world’s sexiest kiss, and that’s absolutely okay.
It lifts the pressure from the first moment, the first kiss, needing to be some flawless thing. There’s such liberation in that, such a joy that comes from knowing that all the best times are still ahead. That a first kiss can really just be a first kiss. The starting point for all to come.
The kiss doesn’t make my breath skip a beat. It steadies my heartbeat instead, making me feel stronger than ever before.
The kiss doesn’t steal my breath away either, like I used to dream of how it would be when I met my true love. And thank God it doesn’t. Because this first kiss with Rory, it feels like giving my breath back. Like after everything I’ve been through so far, and before everything we’ll go through together, I can truly breathe in peace.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Curled up on the Marlow House couch the next week, the traffic from Upper Street has mellowed to its late-night purr, and the bass from Jules and Nina’s sound system seeps through the walls as they’re watching some show that makes Jules shriek dramatically every few minutes.
Sitting up straight on the couch, Rory is going over his lesson plans, and I’m sprawled across the cushions, my head resting on his lap as I’m curled up under the blanket. I’m reading a bestselling business book titledThe Affliction of Emotion: Why Women Shouldn’t Use Exclamation Points in Work Emails.
Each page is making me increasingly agitated. I don’t use exclamation points at work—I had the habit squashed out of me by my very first boss—but I’m increasingly wanting to revive them and break the bounds of the little corporate box I’ve been conditioned to stay in because that’s how you rise up.
From the coffee table in front of us, Rory’s phone screen lights up with a reminder.Tell Kat she’s beautiful.
Raising my eyebrows, I pass the phone to Rory. “You have a reminder to tell me I’m beautiful?” I ask. Accuse, more like it, because what my tone says is,You can’t just remember that yourself?
It strikes me as a highly robotic expression of affection, lacking spontaneity and sincerity. I start pouting, giving Rory the cold shoulder as I sit up and slink to the other side of the couch.
Setting his school folders aside, Rory adjusts the blanket to make sure that my toes are covered. “I’m always thinking it,” he says. “I want to remind myself to express it. That’s all.”
I steal a glance at him, only it doesn’t feel like stealing. It feels like returning. And something about his good-to-the-core aura makes it impossible to begrudge him.
Feeling sheepish, I close the anti–exclamation point book and curl up next to Rory. “There should be a movie about this kind of love,” I say with the lisp that comes from my retainers. “The little things. The real things.”
“Would people watch that kind of movie?” he poses.
“I would.” Though if I’m being honest, the old me wouldn’t have watched it. Or she would’ve started watching it, then turned it off after twenty minutes because it wasn’t sensational enough.“Too boring,”she would’ve thought.
But I’m starting to realize that this kind of stable love is far more interesting than anything I’ve experienced before. The space that’s available in a drama-free relationship leaves so much room for exploration. For really getting to know the intricacies of each other’s hearts and hopes and habits. It goes so much deeper than all the surface-level sparks.
And it’s not like the sparkisn’tthere. It’s like the depth of my attraction overflows from all sides, making me want Rory more than I’ve ever wanted anyone. It’s just that the spark is the frosting on top. The deeper connection will be there either way.
“I like your little phone reminder,” I assure him, letting my grudge loose. “It’s kind of sexy, actually.”
“It’s not sexy,” he says, wrapping me up into his arms. “It’s just me.”
“They’re one and the same,” I insist, dropping a kiss on his smooth cheek, then his lips. He has no idea how good-looking he is—or how incredible he is in general—which makes me want to treasure him that much more.
When I’m snuggled up beside Rory, it doesn’t feel like there’s any gap between us. With other people I’ve dated, no matter how close we physically were, I’d still feel far away. All of that empty space—it’s gone now.
