Page 47 of Autumn on My Mind

The tiniest rustle of motion stirs next to me, and when my gaze meets Dominic’s, I find myself marveling—how is it that six years later, and even with his hand pressed over his mouth, I can still see the frown he’s trying to hide? How can I read the tiny furrow in his brow, the tension in his frame as though he’s actively stopping himself from moving closer to me?

I wish he would.

No, I tell myself immediately when the thought flits through my head. Bad Reese. Look away.

I turn my gaze back toward Alvina, even though all I can see is the shower curtain. She’s still humming, noise that’s drowned out when she turns the faucet on. Then comes the unmistakable sound of someone brushing their teeth.

My lips pull into an involuntary grimace as I try desperately not to think about why my mother might be brushing her teeth at her boyfriend’s house. I also try not to consider what it means that her toothbrush is here in the first place. When I look at Dom, his eyes are wrinkled into an expression identical to mine.

Alvina brushes her teeth for an excessively long time before spitting, and after that all I hear is shuffling and movement. It’s maybe a full minute later that she makes any noise herself, so unexpected my heart jolts.

She doesn’t speak, though. She growls.

My brows jump, my eyes popping wide once more when I hear the sound. I look automatically at Dominic; he looks at me.

Then it happens again: a feline growl, low and throaty, undoubtedly accompanied by a seductive expression and a cat-like clawing gesture.

My jaw drops as Dominic’s hand falls gently away from his mouth. He gapes at me, possibly with sheer horror, and both of us lean closer to the shower curtain to hear better; we listen as Alvina’s heels click over the tile a bit more, and then she opens the bathroom door. Her footsteps fade away down the hall, as do her hums—and Dom and I are left in silence once more, still shocked, still gaping at each other.

The faucet drips. The stillness hangs heavy. My mother’s noises ring in my ears.

And then, ever so slowly, Dominic lifts one hand—up, up—curls his fingers into claws⁠—

“Don’t you dare,” I hiss, but he ignores me⁠—

And he growls.

He growls like my mother did, except the sound is deep and vibrating coming from him, his curled fingers scratching at the air, his eyes dead set on mine.

And I can’t help it. I clap my hands over my mouth to suppress my snort of laughter, but the sound still escapes, and once it’s begun, it’s hard to stop—especially when Dom is still standing there, that growl on his lips, imaginary claws bared.

My hushed giggles and unflattering snorts won’t stay down; they rise in my chest with an almost manic energy, everything that’s been pent up finally bursting free in the form of laughter. My eyes sting with tears that aren’t only from mirth, but I let everything go, watching as Dominic’s lips twitch into a smile he can’t hide either.

His arm drops, his body relaxing, and he laughs softly under his breath. When I lower myself to sit on the floor of the tub, still giggling like a lunatic, he does the same, leaning tiredly against the wall and grinning.

“I thought y—” His smile fades as he breaks off, and he clears his throat. “I thought we could use something to laugh about after that display,” he says quietly.

“We could,” I agree, breathless, as my earlier burst of emotion settles into calmness once more. I’m not sure if I’m sad or happy to see those feelings go.

It was good to see Dom smile, though, and even better to hear his puff of laughter.

“You got the shampoo done?” I say, and he nods, gesturing over his shoulder to an innocuous-looking bottle.

“In there.” Then he picks up the plastic container and foil, wiggling them at me.

I accept them. “We need to get out of here. I don’t know why they didn’t stay at the restaurant, but I don’t want to stick around to find out.”

My words are flippant, but the churning worries in my stomach are more serious. And judging by the look on Dom’s face, he feels the same way.

“Yeah,” he says heavily. He glances at me. “Where did you park? Do you think they saw your car?”

“Mine is a few houses down,” I say, shaking my head. “And it’s pretty generic.” Then, thinking for a second, I frown. “Where’s your truck? I didn’t see it.”

“It’s down the street and around the corner. I don’t think they’ll have seen it either.”

We climb to our feet in silence, moving awkwardly in the cramped space. It doesn’t escape my notice that he hugs one end of the tub as much as possible while I hug the other, ensuring we don’t bump into each other at all.

“How are we doing this?” I whisper, looking up at him.