Chapter 1 #3
“Don’t say that. The name at least is new to me.” I take another bite, not able to discern the flavor of fruit in the jam, but enjoying it all the same.
“I like it,” I tell him. “But I am curious why this is what you prefer over everything on the menu.”
He turns a bit on his stool, his knee knocking against mine, and it sends a little hum of electricity up my leg.
“It’s what my mom used to make for me when I came home from school,” he says. “As a pre-dinner snack. This place is on my way home from work, so it’s become a routine of sorts. Not a daily thing, but sometimes I stop in and have one of these and it feels…comforting.”
I smile. My mom used to do something similar, though the snack choices varied. Parle-G biscuits. Carrot sticks. A PB&J, which I guess isn’t that different from this.
“Are you close to your family?”
He hesitates, something clouding over his expression. He looks down at his plate, then back at me, and clears his throat. “I used to be. My parents, they, uh, passed a few years ago.”
“Oh. Gosh, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay,” he says. “You didn’t know.” He rubs the back of his neck, then offers a faint smile. “I also have two sisters. Both younger, but they don’t live here anymore so I don’t see them that often.”
He takes another sip of his drink, and I avert my gaze.
“What about you?” he asks. “Are you close to your family?”
“My mom and I are close,” I say, choosing to sidestep everything with my father. “She basically raised me all by herself, so it’s always been the two of us. She’s kind of my best friend.”
The tension around his mouth softens. “No siblings?”
I shake my head. “I have a couple step-siblings, but my mom didn’t get married again until I was in college, so we were all adults when we met.” I shrug. “We get along and see each other on holidays, but…I don’t know, it’s hard to think of them as my siblings.”
“I get that.” He glances at me, something open and gentle in his eyes. And maybe a little sad. “It’s nice that you and your mom are close like that. It’s…That kind of bond is special.”
“It is,” I say softly.
We eat in silence for a little while, but at times I can feel him watching me. I do the same, looking at him out of the corner of my eye until we catch each other, and our eyes meet.
Still holding my gaze, he reaches for his glass, but he doesn’t drink from it. His finger just traces the rim, traveling in a slow circle. The pressure must be featherlight because it doesn’t make a sound.
I stare, transfixed, wondering how that caress would feel against my skin.
Warmth creeps up my thighs, and I shift, crossing my legs.
The corner of his mouth rises.
“Earlier,” he says, “when you said you came here for—”
I groan. “No. Please don’t repeat it.”
“I was only going to say—”
I drop my face into my palms. “It never happened,” I say, my voice muffled by my hands. “I take it all back.”
He laughs, deep and bold and ridiculously alluring, and then his hands meet mine, slowly peeling my fingers away from my face. He ducks a bit until we’re at eye level with each other, only inches away.
“Hi,” he says.
“Hi.”
“Are you done eating?”
I nod, and his throat bobs as he swallows. I noticed his eyes were brown before, but this close they look a little different. The color of light shining through whiskey.
He interlaces his fingers with mine, bringing our joined hands down to our sides, and my belly swoops like I’m standing on the edge of something, looking down at the distance below.
“You don’t have to take it back, you know,” he says quietly. His thumb travels over the back of my hand. “If you don’t want to.”
Something in my chest flips, my pulse increasing.
“I don’t…I don’t normally do this,” he says, “but if you want to get out of here—”
Images flash in my mind. His mouth. His fingers. His face over mine. Bedsheets in clenched fists and whipped cream.
I need to get out of my head. I need this escape, this break, something good before I have to go through with the rest of this trip.
And I want it with him.
“I do.”
He releases a puff of air, a sound of relief, and that proof that he wants this, maybe hoped for this, makes me feel slightly tipsy. Giddy.
I pull back and excuse myself to the bathroom, trying to freshen up as best I can. When I return, we both close out our tabs, sneaking glances at each other as we pull out credit cards and sign our checks.
His foot swings back and forth, gently nudging mine.
And he grins, that same cheeky sort of look, when I nudge him back.
When we’re both done paying, he watches me, his expression holding a hint of a question. There’s want there, heat that he’s suppressing, but he’s patient, waiting for me to either change my mind or make the next move.
His eyes flare when I take hold of his fingers and gently tug him off the stool.
All the want on his face rises to the surface now, desperate and raw, and I feel it too, like liquid warmth coursing through me.
“Let’s go,” I say, one hand on my suitcase, one hand in his, not exactly sure where we’re heading, but anxious to get there as soon as we can.