Chapter Forty #2
The night had been successful, and it upset me that I had been distracted for all of it.
I forced myself to reframe the last few hours.
A crowded store was what I had been working so hard to achieve.
The community had been generous, and sales had been strong.
Amelia Louisa had been right; the additional boost was almost enough to compensate for the store opening a week late.
As long as we had a healthy holiday season, we had a good chance at surviving.
But we still had to have a healthy holiday season.
The three of us finished up. I hadn’t ridden my bike because I was protecting my dress, and their car was parked down the street because our small employee lot had been full.
We grabbed our coats, switched off the main lights, and stepped outside.
The fairy lights twinkled in the front windows.
I draped my arms around my friends, finally experiencing the expected rush of gratitude, and we stared up at the shining gold letters above.
The early November air was crisp and cold.
The moon was a waning gibbous, bright enough to light our path.
A figure stepped out of the shadows behind us.
We startled—and then my friends laughed with relief. But my breath caught.
“Sorry.” Macon was wearing his thick duffel coat. His Paddington coat. I hadn’t seen it in months, and he hadn’t been wearing it during the party. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Bex grinned. “Are you here to walk us home?”
“I didn’t see your bike,” he said to me, “so I thought you might want company.”
Mika gave me a squeeze, and then she and Bex slid away and strolled ahead.
“I’m sorry I left.” Macon’s expression twisted with agitation. “I wasn’t dressed warmly enough for a walk. And I thought you might need a coat, too.”
With a surge of pleasure, I realized he was holding one of my coats that I’d left behind in Edmond’s room. It had been lying on top of the boxes.
“But… I forgot you wouldn’t be alone. And it’s autumn. So of course you already have a coat.” He cringed with embarrassment.
I was so happy and giddy that I was speechless.
We ambled toward my neighborhood, fallen leaves crunching underfoot. As Mika and Bex drew farther ahead, they reached out and took each other’s hands. The act was simple but devastating. That physical bond, that companionship, represented everything I wanted.
Macon was still holding my coat, but his empty arm swung beside me.
I extended a brave pinky, searching. It brushed against his hand, and he flinched.
But then his arm stopping moving. His hand stilled completely.
I tried again. My finger slipped between two of his, and his fingers pressed back.
A thrill shivered through me. The rest of my hand moved in, and then his large hand took over and swallowed my small one entirely.
His grip was strong and firm. Elation spread through me so swiftly I almost fainted.
Ahead of us, my friends gave me savvy nods, then got into their car and drove off.
Macon and I didn’t speak.
We didn’t look at each other.
We didn’t want to break the spell.
Without letting go, our hands explored. Pressure there. Feathering here. A rub there. We were learning each other’s lines and contours. Although we had known each other for years, we were discovering the shape of something new.
When we entered my neighborhood, the trees grew large enough to disperse the moonlight.
They towered and locked branches together overhead.
Their few remaining, clinging leaves quivered in the wind.
Our breathing grew shallow. The energy between us darkened and throbbed.
For several minutes, we continued to walk in heavy, questioning, expectant silence.
When our feet finally sank into the gravel driveway, he hesitated.
I tugged him forward and led him behind the house.
The night deepened around us. The streetlights grew out of reach.
At my door, our bodies turned toward each other.
Our heads moved in close and then backed away.
We stared at each other for a few seconds, but our gazes were too intense, so our eyes closed.
Perhaps this made the transition easier, made us less self-conscious about how well we knew each other in every way except for this one.
Our mouths parted. His breath was warm against mine.
He pulled me into his arms, still holding my extra coat. My hips pressed forward and discovered he was hard. Another thrill shot through me. I rocked against him, slowly.
He sucked his breath in.
My chin tilted up.
Ready.
Our mouths met with aggression. With greed and want and desire and frustration and five long years of repressed yearning.
I cried out, and the noise unleashed something inside him because he kissed me harder.
I gasped. Our eyes flew open at the same time, but then he looked down, watching my chest rise and fall.
I fumbled to get my keys out of my tote.
We kissed again, panting, and our teeth clashed.
The door opened, and we fell inside. My bag and the extra coat fell to the floor, then our actual coats and his corduroy jacket.
Our bodies arched and dug against each other, enjoying the feel of less in the way.
The room was so dark it was almost black.
His arms were strong, and I reveled in the reality of his chest, the hard muscle and bone of it, a structure that was holding us both up.
We kissed with so much force, it was as if we feared the other person might still mistake our intention for something else.
His lips traveled down to my throat, down to my collarbone, and then I grabbed him by the hair and pushed him into my breasts.
They were straining against the low neckline of my dress.
His mouth lowered the neckline farther until he found what I wanted and sucked.
I shuddered. My arms clasped behind his head to hold him in place.
He tried to grope my ass, but the full rustling skirt of my dress made it difficult.
I reached up to unzip it, and he moved to help.
“Careful,” I whispered. It was the first word either of us had spoken.
He froze.
“It’s for my sister’s wedding.”
He relaxed and chuckled silently against me.
Silence wasn’t necessary, but we were both aware of the thin wall that separated us from my friends’ kitchen.
Now that we had paused, we heard movements issuing from inside their house.
Afraid that our pause might turn into a full stop, I guided his hand to my zipper.
“Wait,” he whispered, which was not a word I wanted to hear. “Do you have something?”
I told him I was on the pill and felt him exhale.
Neither of us had expected to be in this position tonight.
He unzipped me carefully, as requested. I removed my shoes and then he helped me step out of the dress.
I unhooked my strapless bra and let it fall as I steered him backward toward the bed.
Urgency returned. He wrestled off his shirt as we toppled onto the blankets.
Our bare chests crushed against each other for the first time.
Our hearts were beating wildly. He kicked away his shoes and took off his glasses.
We kissed again, and as his tongue parted my lips, his hand slipped between my legs.
Through the thin cotton of my underwear, it was obvious I was ready for him.
I wriggled it down, fumbling with the waistband of his pants, and he quickly stripped away the rest of his clothing.
He entered me, and it was a frenzy. Thrusting, bucking, bouncing, riding.
Our hunger was desperate and ravenous. I came first, and he came only seconds later, as if he’d been barely holding on, waiting for my release.
We fell back onto my bed, sweating and gasping and in shock.
A minute passed. Another. As our breathing regulated, our bodies began to feel more and more crowded. Finally, I squirmed to the side to give us both some room and then realized there wasn’t any. I laughed once. He stirred against me in question.
“Twin bed,” I whispered.
He laughed quietly. “It’s so small.”
“I guess we should have done this at your place?”
“Next time,” he said, and I closed my eyes to thank the universe.
A different pressure moved to the forefront. “Be right back.” I slipped out of bed, but then an uneasy thought occurred to me. “My bathroom doesn’t have a fan. Or even a door yet.”
“That’s okay.” Amusement undercut the seriousness in his voice. “I’m an adult.”
It was the best and most Macon reassurance.
I was smiling as I padded down the short corridor to the far corner.
The laminate floor and cold porcelain chilled my bare skin.
I relieved myself and returned, and then he got up to do the same.
His hands tapped against the walls and kitchen countertop as he felt his way to the back.
The sheets and blankets were askew, heaped and bunched and falling off.
I straightened them out, slid beneath them, and listened.
The mundanity of the sounds was unexpectedly comforting: the urination, the flush, the hand washing.
Another human being moving through my space.
He navigated his way back to me with more assuredness, but when he leaned over to get into the bed, his entire frame stiffened. “Do you, uh, want me to stay? Should I go home?”