"I think we're going to head out," Bernard says, pushing back from the table.
Jason looks at us. At our linked hands. At the way I'm leaning into Bernard's shoulder. "Fine." He waves us off. "Just don't be gross and suck face where I can see."
Bernard grins. "Is that a fourth rule? I'm losing track."
"Get out of here, Howie."
"Yes, sir." Bernard stands, pulls me up beside him, and grabs my coat from the back of the bench.
Jason watches us head for the door and calls out, "I'm giving you a head start. I need to call my realtor and my money guy."
"Thank you, Jason," I say from the doorway.
"Yeah, yeah." He's already on his phone. "Love you or whatever."
The cold hits us as we push through the front door. Bernard's arm settles around my shoulders, and I tuck against his side as we walk to the G-Wagon. I think about Bernard's hands and Bernard's mouth and the fact that we have an empty apartment waiting for us with no danger, no threat of failure in sight.
He starts the engine, and I watch his hands on the steering wheel, and I feel a surge of want so sharp it surprises me. This feeling is bold, sharp, and urgent. "Bernard."
"Yeah?"
"There's a lesson we never covered."
He glances at me. "What?"
I trail my fingers along the center console. "Car sex."
The G-Wagon swerves. Bernard's knuckles go white on the wheel. "Ella."
"This car has a very spacious back seat."
"We are not—I'm not—this is a moving vehicle."
"I'm just saying. For future reference." I run my palm slowly across my chest, tracing the neckline of my sweater, and watch his eyes dart from the road to my hand and back. "The leather is very nice."
"Ella Rujkowski, I am operating heavy machinery."
"Noted." I reach across the console and rest my hand on his thigh. His quad tenses under my palm, and I hear his breath catch, and I feel powerful in a way that has become familiar and addictive. "I can wait until we get back to the condo."
"Thank you."
"But I’m very, very turned on right now.”
He drives faster. I leave my hand on his thigh and watch Pittsburgh blur past the window, and I think about the first time I sat in this passenger seat, freezing, annoyed, on my way from the airport to crash on a couch. Bernard was a stranger then. A childhood annoyance with bloodshot eyes and a hat pulled low.
Now his leg is warm under my hand, and his jaw is tight with desire, and he's driving me to the place where we figured each other out over meatballs and medical quizzes and gentle, luxurious touches.
"Bernard?"
"If you say car sex again, I’ll wreck.”
"I was going to say I love you."
The car goes quiet. His hand leaves the wheel and covers mine on his thigh. He squeezes once. Twice.
"I love you too, Ella." His voice is rough and certain. "I've loved you for so long and been afraid of how I feel.”
He lifts my hand and kisses my knuckles without taking his eyes off the road. My own eyes fill with tears. I’m so happy right now, joyful in a way I never even imagined. This man beside me helped me grab the career I’m good at, and I love him. And he loves me back. It’s surreal, and yet … here he is. Real. Solid. Mine.
