Chapter 15
Dmitri
We leave the shop and stroll side-by-side along the sidewalk. My head spins with the turn of events. What was I thinking, asking a guy I met sixteen days ago to go on an impromptu trip with me?
To London.
And why am I more excited about him coming with me than I am about the opportunity to audition for the London Symphony?
There’s a chill in the early evening air. Not one that requires a jacket yet, but I know when Ever and I are walking back later this evening, I’ll be regretting my decision to leave my jacket at home.
Home .
Maplewood is not my home. Nor is the cozy Victorian cottage that I’ve gone to sleep in and woken up in for the last week, no matter how much it feels like it.
“I’m sorry for putting you on the spot.” I hook my first finger with his pinkie finger, keeping my gaze on my brown suede boots, one foot in front of the other.
Step, step, step. “I didn’t think it through, and I should never have asked you to come with me in front of your friends.
So, it’s fine if you decide you don’t want to go.
” I hold my breath. Please, please don’t change your mind.
He slows his pace and turns his head, forcing me to meet his gaze.
Two apostrophes between his eyebrows scrunch, then deepen as he takes me in.
He smooths his thumb over the bow of my upper lip, sliding it down until he reaches the bottom lip I’m worrying.
Giving a gentle tug with his fingers, I loosen my teeth and the apostrophes ease.
Then, with lightning speed, he tugs me with him around the corner to stand on the side of the Wild Palette craft store.
I give a startled squeak. A couple walking a Pygmy goat wearing a rainbow bedazzled bow tie shoot a quizzical glance as they pass.
Ever nods his greeting, but keeps his grip firmly on me and says, “You didn’t put me on the spot. ”
The brick of the building we’re leaning against snags the shoulder of his shirt.
I pluck the pale blue fabric—which makes his eyes look like endless pools of Caribbean waters—from the brick, keeping my gaze on the snag while I swallow down the unexpected emotion clogging my throat.
For all I know, he has flings with tourists and visitors all the time.
And why shouldn’t he? He’s gorgeous, talented, passionate.
Even as I think the thought, I know it’s not true. But who in their right mind would be interested in anything long-term with someone unemployed, who doesn’t have a clue what to do with their life, and hasn’t dated or had sex with anyone in ten months?
“Oh, there was definitely a spot. And I threw you right in the middle of it.” I breathe in, filling my lungs, then let out a slow exhale.
“I didn’t stop to think about what I was saying, who I was saying it in front of, or how it would affect you.
” With each word, I pull away a little bit more, building a wall to protect myself from the rejection I know is likely to come.
But there’s no rejection. Instead, warm palms grasp my face and even warmer lips press against my mouth.
My arms thread around his waist, holding on to him with the same urgency as our kiss, and I lose myself in the feel, the taste, the scent that is him.
Drawing his tongue into my mouth, I let myself be engulfed by him.
Here, at this time, in this place, with this man, life makes sense.
It shouldn’t. That it does makes even less sense. I don’t know what my future holds, but I know I want to have someone, some place to belong to.
His tongue glides into my mouth, and I sink into him and his hold.
So much for building up my walls. With every delicious swipe, he dismantles another brick.
Seconds turn to minutes and minutes might as well turn to hours because I’m lost in him.
Until finally, he slows the kiss, moaning like he doesn’t want to end it, but has to.
Which is a good thing because in my lust-fogged brain, I’ve lost track of the fact that we’re making out on the main street for all to see.
He presses his forehead to mine, the heat of his body bleeds through the layers of clothing, warming me to my very core. I press my lips to the divot in his chin, and when I drag my gaze to meet his, he says, “I want to go to London with you. I’ve never wanted anything more.”
“Yeah?” My throat is dry and croaky. The voice in the back of my head says it’s too much too soon, but I slam the door shut on that voice because inside my chest, warmth explodes, wrapping around me like a protective shield.
“Yeah.” He kisses my forehead. “This isn’t typical behavior for me.”
Is he saying what I think he’s saying? Is this thing between us as intense for him as it is for me? Not wanting to scare him away if I’m wrong, I go for cheeky playfulness and cock my brow. “You mean you don’t run off to other countries with men you’ve only known for a couple of weeks?”
“That. And…” He kisses the tip of my nose. It’s so sweet my insides go squishy. “I don’t fall this fast or this hard for someone.”
My throat bobs with each swallow. “I don’t either. Maybe that’s a good thing?”
“How so?” He laces our fingers together and we continue our trek to the diner.
The feel of his hand in mine is thrilling and comforting. “I’m not sure. I just know that all of my previous relationships were years in the making. It was a year of feeling each other out before Sebastian and I got together. And look how that turned out.”
“Asshole,” he growls out the word, his grip on my hand bordering on painful, but his indignation on my behalf fills some of the cracks in the heart I’ve been mending.
Other than telling him I had a bad breakup, and the guy cheated on me, I’ve been fairly close-lipped.
Having your boyfriend propose to someone else in front of you while at work with an audience applauding is beyond humiliating.
Especially when he told you numerous times how he “had no interest in participating in a hetero-normative institution that was created to exchange women as property.”
“Let’s not ruin dinner with my pathetic story.
” We reach the diner and he holds the door open for me.
“I’ll tell you when we get ho—when we get back to your house after the lecture.
” In the last several days, I’ve started to think of Ever’s place as home .
Even more so than the two-bedroom condo in a renovated brownstone I’ve lived in for almost a decade.
And I need to stop. It’s one thing to act out of character and invite him to London, but it’s quite another to have notions of happily ever afters.
“Deal,” he says and kisses the back of my neck as I pass.
Hours later, after dinner and being riveted by Ever’s lecture on creating bee-friendly gardens, we lie naked together, sweat-slicked and sated.
Head on his chest, I draw circles around his belly button with my fingers.
The passion with which Ever spoke about how home gardeners can help honeybees intoxicated everyone in the standing-room-only conference room at the library.
He was funny, engaging, and so knowledgeable that the hour seemed more like ten minutes.
Getting to watch him as he stayed for another hour patiently answering questions from and recommending resources to every person who waited to speak to him individually was like opening a gift I didn’t know I wanted but wouldn’t return for anything.
His fingertips dance up and down my arm in a smooth and seductive, slow waltz. I snuggle in, letting his heartbeat lull my heavy eyelids closed, soaking in this moment. He presses a kiss on the top of my head. “Are you going to tell me what happened with your ex?”
I squeeze my closed eyes tight, as if doing so will keep my humiliation at bay. But there is a part of me that wants to share, even my most degrading moment with him. The epiphany hits me like a meteor crashing to earth.
I never fully opened up to Sebastian. Maybe a part of me knew he couldn’t be trusted. But in retrospect, I always seemed to hold something back in all of my relationships.
I don’t want to do that anymore, and with Ever I feel safe. Seen.
So, keeping my cheek pressed to his chest and my body plastered to his side, I hook my leg over his and open my mouth.
The story falls out, not hiding any of the mortifying details, and when I finish, I steel myself.
For what, I’m not sure. Maybe laughter at how stupid I was not to know my boyfriend was clearly dating someone else.
Or secondhand embarrassment for having to watch said boyfriend propose in front of me.
Or condemnation for quitting a job most musicians would kill for because of a man.
Or worst of all, pity for being such a fool.
“What a sadistic fucking asshole.” His hold tightens around me and I can feel the beat of his heart speed up. “If I ever see that fucker, I’m gonna punch him in his perfect fucking nose.”
Laughter bubbles in my chest, bursting out at the image of Sebastian holding his nose as blood stains his perfectly pressed dress shirt. “How do you know his nose is perfect?”
It is perfect, and I happen to know he spent a lot of money to make it so.
“I saw pictures of him when I Googled you.” Pink slashes his cheeks, and he tightens his hold on me. “When you told me you played for the Philadelphia Orchestra with such nonchalance, I looked you up.”
I press my lips to his warm chest, and the hair on it, slightly darker than that on his head, tickles my cheek. “Thank you.”
He tips his head to get a better look at me. “For what?”
“For being incensed on my part. Because we weren’t out about our relationship, the only people who understood what I was going through were my parents and Zemira.” My fingers pluck at the cotton sheet. “It’s my fault, of course, but still…”