I nod. “I also dropped out. About a day before I showed up here. Why did you leave?”
He shrugs nonchalantly, and I can tell he’s trying not to make a big deal out of it, but a cloud of darkness washes over him. “I just…I don’t know. I wasn’t in a good place.”
“Were you failing out or something?”
He laughs. “Actually, I was doing very well. There was…just…other stuff going on. Can we leave it at that?” The timer that he set on his phone goes off. “Lobsters are ready.”
Sam walks me step-by-step through the process of cracking open lobster shells and pulling out the meat, leaning over the bowl to my left but staying close. The way he talks and moves is soothing, comforting. I notice how crystal clear everything is tonight—the colors, the sounds, the smells. There’s sharpness to my world.
“Everyone is always crazy about the tail meat,” he says, “but if you ask me, the best flavor is in these knuckles and the claws.” He twists a red arm from the body and breaks it open. “Not only is the meat better, but there’s all the liquid that you can’t miss.” Sam is inches from me when he brings a claw shell to my lips. “Drink.”
I tip my head back a bit and let him pour hot liquid into my mouth. It’s the richest, purest taste I’ve ever experienced. When he takes the shell away, I rub my lips together and smile. “More,” I whisper.
So, he feeds me juice from the other claw. A rumble of thunder echoes just as I finish. I didn’t even notice that a storm might be brewing, but I can feel the change in the air, the tingle on my skin. Sam’s a bit distracting though. He steps in even closer, his waist moving between my legs. My eyes travel down the length of his muscular arm, to his hand that moves to rest on my thigh.
“More?” he asks softly.
“Yes,” I breathe.
“You sure,more?” His voice is soft and teasing.
Now, I take in his broad shoulders, the way his shirt fits snugly and shows the shape of his chest, and mostly, the way our closeness, our sudden intimacy, radiates around us. Our draw to each other is palpable, yet this is much more than just sexual. I’m momentarily shaken by the inexplicable perfection of us being together. We hardly know each other, so my certainty about this should feel off. But it doesn’t.
His hand gently cups my waist, and he moves his head in a bit. It only takes lifting my mouth a few inches before his lips come to mine. There is no hesitation and no tentative light kiss to feel our way around. Immediately, we have rhythm and instinct as though we’ve done this forever. He moves his mouth and tongue with an exquisite balance of confidence and tenderness, and I respond easily and naturally.
I touch my hands to his chest and admire his strength and solidity. His arm wraps behind me and pulls me in, so I slip my hands up to the back of his neck and let him bring us closer together. Each time his tongue slides against mine, a rush of adrenaline courses through me. I realize that I have been waiting for this since the exact minute when our last kiss ended all those years ago.
Right now, while burning heat and a certain level of aggressiveness come from both of us, it is also clear to me that this is not the precursor to sex. He’s not going to clear off the counter and fuck me without care as if I mean nothing. And there is safety and security in his reserve. This is a kiss with meaning and feeling and not just an obligatory step before getting laid.
I know what that feels like, and this isn’t it.
Even with my eyes closed, I sense the burst of lightning that flashes just before the thunder hits again.
Sam slows our kiss until his lips are barely brushing against me. “Food’s getting cold.”
He rubs his nose against mine, and I feel him smile.
“Okay.”
“We can’t let your first real lobster dinner go to waste.”
“No,” I agree.
But this is already the best meal I’ve ever had.
We get through the rest of dinner without me cramming my tongue down his throat, but it does take effort. I want to maintain the innocence in this night even though I know that it would be so easy for both of us to let it go further. I actually crack and shell the second lobster all on my own, and I feel a rather inflated sense of accomplishment that Iknowis inflated but that I nonetheless allow. We taste-test, dipping the meat in melted butter. He feeds me a chunk seasoned with a squeeze of lemon, and when he coats a piece in hot sauce, it sends me grabbing for bread.
I am drunk on flavor and drunk on Sam.
When we’re done, he refuses to let me help clean and insists that I sit exactly where I am on the counter. “You just stay there and drink wine and look all kinds of cute in my clothes.”
In between swipes at the counter with a dish towel, he leans in and gives me quick kisses, and it’s all I can do not to wrap my legs around him and lock him against me. This all feels right—inexplicably, indescribably right—and he looks as giddy as I feel.
The wall that was between us has collapsed.
After everything is put away, my heart sinks when he helps me down onto the floor.
“I have to go. Early morning at the inn.”
