Before
Kestrel first met Hank in Ann Arbor after moving there for an EMT job.
For the seven years since high school, she’d worked in four different states as a vacation ranch employee, a dog groomer, a barista, a box-office clerk, a party planner, a bartender, and once in a musical-themed restaurant serenading for tips.
But by her mid-twenties, she was ready for some stability, and EMT seemed a good fit for a woman accustomed to chaos and expecting entropy.
Kestrel began dragging her work friends to the karaoke bar at Let the Good Times Roll Bowling Alley. There they clicked with some University of Michigan grad students, and all being Michigan transplants, were happy to have a reliable group of friends for weekends and holidays.
But then Hank, standing near enough to overhear, told Stallone, “Hey, FYI, Kestrel doesn’t like sour cream.”
After that, Kestrel couldn’t help noticing Hank. At the gatherings, he was usually in quiet conversation with just one person at a time while Kestrel was dashing and dancing from group to group. She started making oh-so-casual inquiries.
From Lakissha: “Hank’s family runs a generations-old dairy farm in Wisconsin.
He lived there all his life till he decided to go to college.
I could tell he felt awkward as a twenty-five-year-old freshman in the dorms, so I invited him to come room with a bunch of grad students. You know, I think he’s my best friend.”
From Cody: “When I drove my truck into a pond, the dude spent an entire Saturday with me pulling it out. I’d fight anyone who looked at him sideways. We’re best friends.”
From Bronson: “Hank has come to all my improv shows. One hundred percent my best friend.”
And then at a mutual friend’s New Year’s Eve shindig at the house, Kestrel caught Hank watching her from across the room before quickly looking away. Tired of all the wondering, she sat sideways on the sofa beside him so she could face him directly. He startled at the sudden attention.
“How did you know I don’t like sour cream?”
She recounted the nachos incident, and color flushed his cheeks. He mumbled something about “overhearing you once, I guess.”
Kestrel pointed to an engineering grad student across the room. “Does Skai like sour cream?”
Hank laughed and rubbed his head. “I don’t know.”
She pointed to Cody. “Does he?”
“Whaddup!” Cody hollered back, holding up rock ’n’ roll fingers.
Hank shrugged. He looked pathetically out of his depth.
“What else do you know about me? My favorite color? My birthday?” She gasped. “My phone passcode?”
“No! Well, I mean, blue and June sixth, but I don’t know your passcode.”
She’d meant it as a joke, expecting a confused and indifferent Hank, so this shocked her to silence.
“I swear, I’m not a creepy stalker,” he said. “I’m just observant.”
She knelt up on the couch, placed her hands on his shoulders, and demanded, “Tell me your secrets, Hank. Why are you paying attention to me?”
“Oh lord, Kestrel, don’t back me into a corner, I beg you.” His tone was nonchalant, but she could detect tension beneath his words. She let the silence grow longer, insisting on the truth.
He shifted, he evaded, but finally, he met her eyes. And he said matter-of-factly, “Because you’re the most interesting, most fascinating, most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.”
Kestrel’s breath caught, a fish on a hook. Her heart was flopping around. Half of her felt pulled toward Hank, while the other half was screaming, It’s a trap! Don’t trust him! Anyone who wants you is inherently untrustworthy!
Her hands were still on his shoulders. They were broad, dependable shoulders.
They suddenly seemed to be the best shoulders she had ever beheld.
And his eyes—blue! It was as if the universe was saying, “See? This is why you love blue!” Every shade of azure and indigo, every forget-me-not and lapis lazuli, were all in existence to prepare her for the moment she looked into Hank’s eyes and felt seen. Felt at home.
This was a lot of data for the universe to dump into her all at once. She couldn’t process it.
Hank whispered, “Did I just ruin everything?”
Such an adorably vulnerable question broke the spell, and her first instinct was to straddle his lap and kiss him soundly, but she stopped herself when her second instinct warned, Not too fast. This one matters. Savor it.
The song “I Just Want to Dance with You” was blasting over the riotous party noises. Kestrel pointed up as if to the sound and asked, “So, do you?”
Hank stood and offered his hand. She took it. He put one hand on her lower back and with his other held hers, leading her in a confident two-step.
“I suspect this isn’t your first two-step,” said Kestrel.
Hank smiled. “I was just thinking how this feels like the first time.”
So Kestrel started to croon “Feels Like the First Time.”
Hank blushed again. “Everything I’m saying sounds corny. This wasn’t how I imagined it.”
“You’ve imagined this?”
Hank pressed his lips together and shook his head. “I keep wanting to lie to you, but I’m so bad at it.”
“So, how did this go in your imagination?”
Hank’s lips twitched with a self-conscious roguishness that she would come to know well. Then his strong hands spun her around, caught her, and dipped her low, her body curving backward in a gentle sprawl over his knee. Kestrel laughed in surprise, but a deeper part of her was melting.
“You’re right, this isn’t corny at all,” she said, and meant it.
He pulled her back up as a slower song rolled under their feet and entwined around their limbs.
Kestrel’s arms reached around his chest, feeling the girth of this farm-boy-turned-freshman.
Their height difference was too great for her to comfortably put her arms around his neck.
Both his hands pressed against her, so large they seemed to cover her entire back.
They danced, but barely, just moving together.
They didn’t talk. She felt as if the energy of their bodies was feeling each other out, testing to see if they hummed the same tune.
She thought, I could stay in this moment forever.
“WHOA!” said Cody, his face suddenly in theirs. “Look at you two! Is this a thing now? How come I didn’t know this was a thing now?”
Kestrel said, “Do you want to—” and Hank said, “Yes.”
She took his warm, calloused hand and led him through the crowd.
Suddenly all their friends seemed like extras in a movie scene.
Nothing mattered but what was warming between her and this near-stranger.
She led him into the house’s pantry/coat closet and closed the door behind them.
She wasn’t generally a fan of small spaces behind closed doors, but she was pleased to detect no panic in herself, only curiosity tinged with thrill.
He laughed nervously. “I notice that you don’t like sour cream, and suddenly we’re playing seven minutes in heaven.”
Kestrel’s eyes adjusted to the dimness, and she could make out his expression—worried but hopeful.
“Why not?” she said. “Okay, here’s the game. For each thing you’ve noticed about me, you get one kiss.”
He smiled. “You like games.”
She lifted his hand to her mouth and presented a quick smack on his knuckle.
“Oh you were serious? Okay . . .” He thought. “You talk to every dog you see as if you’re old friends.”
Kestrel’s heart responded with an Aw! It was a perfect thing, as if he’d gently and kindly showed her a piece of her own soul.
With her foot, she pulled a crate of canned goods closer, stood on it, and kissed his cheek.
From this height, she could take in the expanse of him.
Why hadn’t she realized before that he was so extraordinary? Now he seemed to dazzle.
“You . . .” His brows pressed together, as if he was taking this assignment seriously. “You seem so comfortable with yourself that the world adjusts around you. You belong anywhere you go, and this invites everyone around you to feel at home too.”
She wondered why her eyes stung and then realized they were pricked with tears. Parts of her warned her to flee. This wasn’t an idle flirtation. This was real. Real felt dangerous.
But also, real felt like an adventure. She pressed her hand to her own beating heart, not in an attempt to calm it but more to enjoy it. Something was different this time. She didn’t have to run away. She could do this. She tipped her head and kissed the end of his fine square chin.
“I like this game,” he whispered.
Their chests pressed together, their faces were an inch apart. He looked away, as if the nearness was too much. She touched the scar on his upper lip with the tip of her finger. His lips parted. She could feel his own pounding heart hammering against her chest.
They could hear the yells of countdown: “THREE . . . TWO . . . ONE . . . HAPPY NEW YEAR!” Hank met her eyes, an invitation for a New Year’s kiss. Kestrel wrapped her arms around his neck and felt him shiver. He placed his hands so lightly on her waist, she barely felt them.
“Kestrel, I want to explain. I wasn’t trying to be .
. . cute or something, gathering tidbits about you.
At first, I was just curious. I’d never met anyone like you.
You’re so warm and enthusiastic, you say exactly what you mean, you’re like a bonfire in whatever room you enter.
So I noticed you, and then I admired you, and then . . .”
“Now?” she said.
“And now I . . .”
Her hand rose into his hair, gripping it.
His breaths became shallow. His hands flexed against her back, and they pressed her even closer, and she wanted that, yes.
Her heart thumped with thrill and delight as well as warning that everything was about to change.
But she raised her chin so their mouths were a breath away.
She whispered, “Tell me one more.”
He said, “You love Christmas.”
Her hand in his hair pushed his head forward the final inch, and their mouths met. There was nothing tentative about him now. He kissed her as if ravenous. He kissed her like he’d been aching to for ages. He kissed her as if he already loved her.