Page 141 of Wells

"I'm not asking you to be fine with it," I say. "I'm telling you it's the last one you'll ever hear about after the fact."

That's all I offer. I don't give a speech about what I want or a list of everything I have missed.

Cera steps closer.

My heart hits hard enough that I nearly look down to make sure it has not done something embarrassing.

She reaches for my hand, not for balance this time, not for a pose. Her fingers slide between mine, and she looks at our joined hands like she is studying the truth of them.

“I told you I wasn’t looking to fall into anything,” she says.

“I remember.”

Her thumb moves once across the inside of my wrist. “Then I guess it matters that I’m not falling.”

My chest tightens around her words.

“No?”

“No.” Her eyes lift to mine. “I’m choosing where I put my feet.”

I do not move and realize I'm holding my breath. I only stand there while she rises on her toes and kisses me.

For one second, I am nothing but the shock of her mouth on mine in the morning light. Then I come back to myself enough to answer her without taking over. My free hand lifts to her cheek, slow enough that she can pull away before I touch her. She does not.

Her fingers curl tighter around mine.

When she eases back, her forehead rests against mine. Her breath shakes once, and mine does the same.

“I’m still mad at you,” she whispers.

A laugh leaves me, rough around the edges. “As you should be.”

“And I might be for a while.”

“Naturally.”

“But I don’t want to keep living on the other side of it.”

The words go through me slowly, too large to answer fast. I brush my thumb along her cheekbone. “Then I’ll walk where you let me.”

Her eyes shine, but her mouth curves. “That sounds suspiciously obedient.”

“I’m new to it.”

“You’ll need practice.”

“I’ve been attending yoga. I understand practice now.”

She laughs, and I kiss the corner of her mouth because she is close enough, because she has not moved away.

This time, she kisses me back without hesitation.

By the time we start walking again, the garden is brighter, and the city beyond it has fully woken. Cars move along the street. Someone laughs near the entrance. A bird calls from somewhere high in the branches.

Cera keeps her hand in mine.

I don't tell myself that I have her back. That's not the shape of this.