Chapter 19
[Trinity]
I’m in the kitchen, putting a pre-made bottle in the fridge.
The room is dark except for a light over the stove.
Dart is out at another baseball game. It’s been almost a week since our kiss.
I’ve had a lot to think about lately. The things Dart and I have revealed and shared. The advice Mom gave me the other day.
Don’t let my walls be so thick someone can’t get through them. Or love can’t get out.
While I’ve worked hard to keep emotions in, it might be time to set them free. Not just the anger and disappointment, but forgiveness. Real forgiveness. And as mom said, maybe allow a little fun. See if Dart and I can be who we once were. Or even better.
With this thought in mind, I close the refrigerator door and shriek.
“Jesus,” I hiss, flattening my hand over my chest, glaring at Dart, who stands near the corner of the fridge, originally blocked from view by the previously open door.
“Nope.” He smiles, wide and lazy. “Just me.” He’s wearing a backward ball cap and smells like summer evenings and baseball diamonds.
“I didn’t hear you come in.” I swallow thickly, my heart still racing. “Did you have fun tonight?”
He shrugs and leans against the corner of the fridge. “Eh. Hit a double. Struck out once. Was hit in another time.”
I smile. I’m glad he’s reconnecting with his friends. Friends are important, which reminds me I haven’t been to book club in weeks. Other than the impromptu baby shower and our active group text, I hadn’t been out with my friends in a while.
Dart doesn’t move, still leaning casually against the edge of the fridge.
“How are Hutch and Marshall?” I ask.
“Good. Petty is back.”
“Petty?” How have I missed that? Another prodigal son, though Petty has been much more wayward than Dart.
I chuckle with surprise. “How is the rambling musician?”
“I’d rather talk about you.” He pauses, his eyes glowing from the light behind me over the stove. “I feel like you’ve been avoiding me.”
“Avoiding you?” I laugh nervously. He’s practically everywhere I am. Giving Mirabelle a bath, Dart is there, hand on my lower back, cooing at her in the kitchen sink. Feeding Mirabelle a bottle at night, Dart is beside me on the couch, arm against my arm.
I feel like I couldn’t get away from Dart if I tried, and I’m not certain I want to. Be away from him, that is.
Still, I’m afraid to make another move.
Somehow, I’ve twisted so my back is against the fridge, and Dart is in front of me, arm raised so he can clutch the top of the appliance.
“Avoiding me,” he repeats.
His eyes are so bright despite the dim room. And laser-focused on me. My eyes. Like he wants to read all my thoughts. If only he could.
“What do you need?” he whispers, dropping his gaze to my mouth.
“Uhm. What do I need for what?” I’m making no sense because he’s suddenly invading all my senses. That outdoor scent. The gleam in his eyes. How close he is.
“What do you need from me? To help us move forward.”
“Oh.” I clear my throat. “I . . . I haven’t really thought about it.”
But I have. I need him to promise not to hurt me again. Not to leave me. But I can’t make him give me promises he can’t guarantee to keep. I can’t ask him to stay.
“You haven’t?” His brows lift, his chest rises, but he doesn’t shift from caging me in against the fridge. The coolness from the stainless-steel seeps into my back.
My mom’s advice comes back to me again.
“Okay. I need you to be open with me. Honest. If you feel me pushing you away or find yourself pulling back, we need to talk.”
He nods, blinking a few times before settling his gaze on my mouth again. “I can do that.”
“And what about from me?” My voice sounds small, quiet in the already quiet space. The hum of the fridge behind me. The slowness of Dart’s breath.
I lick my lips, nervous but almost giddy from our position.
Dart tracks the quick movement of my tongue before meeting my eyes.
“I need the same. I need you to force my attention when you think I’m not listening.
Tell me if I hurt you.” Pain slashes through his eyes, knowing he’d never intentionally do such a thing, but it happens. A sharp comment. A terse retort.
We weren’t perfect. But we were . . . ours.
“I need you to not push me away but pull me closer. When you need me.”
The truth could be read two ways. Emotionally. But also, physically.
My hands are tucked behind my butt, palms flat on the fridge, like magnets holding photos against the appliance’s surface.
We just stare at one another.
Amber eyes reflecting the darkness of mine.
“Remember our first kiss?” Dart’s voice lowers, his gaze dropping to my mouth again.
How could I forget?
“You were out with girls from the hospital,” he begins.
“And you somehow ended up at the same bar with your friends.”
“That might have been intentional.”
I laugh quietly. “Liar.”
His eyes dance, the truth in them. “I gave you a ride home.”
And I remember being caged in, like my current position.
He’d opened my door like a gentleman, helping me out of his truck, and I stumbled, falling back against the side of the bed.
We just stared at one another for the longest minute of my life.
Like we are doing right now, both privately recalling the memory.
“You were terrifying.” His mouth slowly curls, and he reaches for my hair, slipping his pinched fingers down the short length. Watching as he caresses the strand.
“Me?” I chuckle harder. “You were frightening.” My brother’s best friend. A known flirt. And yet he was so focused on me, always teasing me by calling me Forever.
“Meant it when I said it,” he whispers, as if reading my thoughts while running the back of his fingers along the side of my throat, watching once again where he touches me.
“Forever.” The word ghosts between us. Louder, he says, “Knew I’d never be perfect, but I’d be better with you by my side.”
“Dart,” I whisper, overwhelmed by the honesty.
He sets his fingertip gently on my clavicle, in that little dip between the bones, then drags it up my neck, causing me to tip back my head and glance up at him. He still watches his finger, painting a line over my skin until he reaches my chin.
He gently pinches me there, tipping my head down, catching his gaze on my lips again.
“Still want to be by your side,” he says. “Want you to let me try again.”
I swallow hard, uncertain how to answer him.
“I think we just need more time.” Like Mom said, a lot has happened so quickly.
Dart nods, still looking at my mouth.
“Think we’ll ever kiss like that again?” The question is rough, vulnerable.
“Like the first time?” I arch a brow. “I think there’s only one first time.”
He shakes his head. “Agree to disagree. Because we had so many firsts. First time beside my truck. First time in your bed.” His smile curls, pulling up another memory. “First time as my wife.”
His grin grows larger. “First time in this house.”
I can’t seem to help myself. I smile back at him with every reminder of other first kisses.
“And first time on that pink couch.” The pitch of his voice has dropped even further, like soft gravel on a sandlot. “That’s my new favorite.”
I snort, quiet and choppy, while my cheeks heat. “I wasn’t exactly graceful.” I practically ambushed him.
He shakes his head, slowly, eyes on mine again. “Don’t need you to be graceful. Or even careful with me, Trin. Just need you to be you.”
I lick my lips once more. “Okay.” Breathless thanks to the flutters exploding in my belly, I wonder if he’ll kiss me right now.
First time kissing against this fridge. Although we probably did that sometime before. We must have at one point or another. But some memories just mingle with the mundane, not standing out as significant when they should.
Another memory comes to me. “Remember our second kiss?”
Dart smiles again, one corner of his mouth tipping up higher than the other. He shakes his head.
My mouth falls open, like I’m a little aghast and a lot offended. “You sent me a text. Asked me when I had a break at the hospital.”
“Ah,” he nods, but I’m not certain he really remembers.
“You showed up with a single daisy.”
His lips spread. “Saw it on the roadside and stopped to pick it.”
“And then you kissed me by your truck again,” I remind him, enjoying this game of finishing each other’s thoughts. Filling in the memory together.
“Wanted to know if the second time was as good as the first.”
He’d said something similar on that day as well.
“And?” I arch a brow, like I don’t already know the second one was just as good as the first one.
“Might have been even better.” His gaze drops to my lips again.
“Really?”
“Yep. Because you gave me a second chance.”
Our eyes lock.
First kisses are important, special even, but so are the second ones. It meant one more time to experience something that already felt kind of perfect. And then, make it better.
Maybe have a third, and a fourth . . .
I can’t make the first move here, so I squeeze my thighs and clench my fists behind me, while willing him to kiss me like he once did. First time or last time or anytime in between.
Because as much as I’ve proudly proclaimed my sexual independence, the one thing I can’t do is kiss myself. And I want Dart to kiss me.
He lowers his head, and my mouth waters. I hold perfectly still as he runs his nose along the side of mine. I tip back my head and our eyes meet, too close to really focus on each other.
Then he pulls back, a sly smirk on that seductive mouth.
“You hold all the flags here, Trin. And I’m still in the yellow zone.”
Caution. I know this much about racing.
“When you’re ready to give me the green, I’m all in.”
He stares at me a second longer, then pushes off the fridge. He runs the tip of his finger along my lower lip, and he might as well have kissed me, because his touch lingers long after he walks out of the kitchen.
As I remain plastered to the fridge, my heart wildly hammering, and my breath shallow.
And my mouth missing his.