16. Perfect Date
Perfect Date
Solace
Ransom drew our hands together, fingers locking as he raised them up over our heads.
I couldn’t help but smile at the way they looked like a constellation against the dark.
We were standing in that same empty room.
There was a bed, low to the sleek tile, and blue light illuminated our silhouettes.
The buzz whirring in the background set my teeth on edge, it wasn’t the same hollow quiet in the waking world.
The angular window before us seemed to be some sort of black mirror.
Our tangled reflection stood against it like an oil painting.
Every time I dreamt of him, I met him here. In this brutalist space.
“I promise, there’s nothing you could do to make me forget you.” His breath came in warm waves across my brow.
Staying here felt like cheating time together. I’d rather never sleep at all.
The laugh I let out was shallow—short. “I’m not sure that’s entirely true.” Eventually he’d move on. One day soon he’d radio in, the sound would echo uselessly across the concrete walls to which there would be no reply. I could only hope these dreams would carry me through death.
The pain in my chest was so sharp I could not help the shudder that ran through me. Jude dropped my hands to hold me instead, gathering me into a hug that I wanted to disappear into.
“What’s wrong?”
“Absolutely nothing.” I sounded breathless, deranged even, but it was true.
I couldn’t have wanted for more. When you live through the apocalypse you come to realize a few things quickly.
Number one: death is inevitable. We all die, some of us faster than others.
Each day was a miracle. Number two: it was the small things.
Things like this hug. Like these dreams that seemed to connect us in ways we’d never fully understand.
Number three: enjoy every second. Because who knows when it will be your last.
“What's your perfect date?” Jude leaned back to look me in the eyes, stepping toward the bed and dragging me with him. I stood between his legs, glancing down at his perfect face. The slant of his nose and thin lips as he studied me, rubbing his palms over the backs of my thighs.
Then he pulled me down and I went tumbling after him, my elbow catching the cup on his nightstand on the way. It hit the floor, water spreading dark across the smooth floors and soaking into the corner of his sheets.
“I'm sorry—” I started, already moving to get up.
“Leave it.” His hand caught my waist, pulling me back down against him. “Leave it,” he said again.
So I did.
“What is your perfect date,” he asked again.
“I miss October, so probably October twenty—ouch!”
“Not a calendar date, smart-ass.” He’d smacked my ass, only to knead the sting through.
Tucking a curl behind my ear as he adjusted us until we were nestled comfortably against each other.
“A date-date. In another life, where I take you to dinner and tell you I'll pick you up at seven.” He let out a noiseless laugh.
“I'd spend three hours debating whether to wear a tie, which one would look best with my shirt—and then grab that jacket you always liked anyway.
I'd have gone to the farmer's market that morning for flowers, made sure to take the car through the wash.” His thumb traced slowly along my hip.
“I'd knock and you'd pull me inside, hair half-done, still in your robe.
You'd tell me five more minutes. I'd sit on your couch for at least twenty and I wouldn't mind a single one.”
The knot in my throat grew tighter as his glassy eyes met mine.
“A date where I'd have to wipe my palms on my pants every five minutes before finally working up the nerve to just take your hand.
Where I'd spend dinner studying the way your lips shaped every word.
I'd tell you how beautiful you looked. How mesmerizing I found your eyes.” He paused.
“You'd hum your music for me and I'd hang onto every damn measure.”
I was going to cry. I didn't want to, not here, not in the dream. Not when I could still feel the warmth of him tucked around me, his arm solid at my back.
“When I got you home I'd walk you to the door.
You'd invite me up, and with restraint I'm not sure I actually possess, I'd kiss your cheek instead.
Tell you you're lovelier than any star I've ever seen.
Promise to call tomorrow—because by then I'd already know there were a hundred more dates coming.” He laughed, low and quiet.
“And don't get me wrong. I'd imagine you the entire drive home.
Probably need a cold shower the second I got through the door, because I'd love nothing more than—” his hand pressed warm at my hip, “to consume you until there was nothing left of us, but there'd be a lifetime to get to that.”
I was lying with my head on his chest, hand clenching his shirt as he held me in the dark.
He nudged my chin with a finger, “So what’s your perfect date? Dinner and a movie? Dancing? If the world didn’t end, and we had more time than we knew what to do with—”
I cut him off with a kiss. It was fire. It was starlight. It was—
“You.” I hadn’t any wonder. “You’d be my perfect date, Jude.”