The Overdue Kiss

13. Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Thirteen

Dear Ms. Santos,

We regret to inform you that your request through the Rocosa Historical Society has been denied...

T he rest of the email blurs in my inbox as a burst of fury courses through my veins. Yes, I know the others warned me this might be the outcome, but I thought because of my position with Golden Library and the fact that I sent six and a half pages explaining the urgency to prevent the library’s closure would sway their decision.

Nope. It’s a flat-out refusal.

Unbelievable!

A deranged laugh escapes me at the thought of my week’s worth of hard work going down the drain. They are the literal barricade blocking me from time-sensitive renovations that could save their library.

I bark another sarcastic laugh as I read a line further down the email where they “respectfully decline” the closure of the library. What? Does this person think they can override the government’s decision should they choose to pull the library’s funding? What delusional person wrote this? I scroll to the email signature and memorize the name: Gladys Monroe.

I’m about to be a pain in your backside, Ms. Monroe.

“Why does it sound like a mad scientist lives here?” Julia says cautiously from the doorway, peering around the doorjamb.

“The historical society just declined my renovation request. Since there’s no structure damage or code violation, they won’t approve cosmetic changes.” I shake my phone at her. “They are turning it into a book mausoleum instead of a functioning library.”

Julia nods, raising her hands in the air as she tiptoes into the room. “Some of what you said was in Spanish, but I caught the gist of it. Is that all we can do? Can we appeal or fight it somehow?”

“Oh, I’m going to fight it all right,” I growl.

Unlocking my phone, I scroll to search for Mr. Sherman in my contacts right when Reese calls.

“Hello?”

“Oh, hey. I swear I didn’t even hear it ring. Anyway, I’m calling to see what day you need me to install the fiber optics line. It might take me a day or so, and I need to let Lewis know which day I won’t be in the shop.”

“I wish I had a date to tell you, but the historical society declined my request.”

Reese sucks in a breath. “I’m sorry, Maya. They are notorious for doing that. When the antique shop wanted to change their carpet, it was like removing a stripped screw to get their request approved. Des would know more. He goes to those meetings when he can.”

A sliver of hope twinkles in my chest. “Oh, good. I’ll call him next.”

“Don’t bother. I’m heading to his place now. Why don’t I come grab you and we can work out a plan?”

“Perfect. I’ll throw on my jacket and wait for you outside.”

Reese is prompt, pulling into the driveway with a long whistle. “Is this how the richer half lives? Must be nice.”

Laughing, I climb into the car and buckle in. “I wouldn’t know. I live on the third floor of an apartment building. No mountain views, no laundry room, and no elevator—but the rent is affordable.”

She puts on her signal and turns down a side street. “I have you beat. I live above the auto shop in the tiniest studio apartment. Everything smells like exhaust and oil.”

“At least you’re never late to work.”

“You’d think, right?” She tilts her head at me and laughs. “But I’m working on one flaw at a time. I don’t want to overwhelm myself and relapse.”

“The fact that you’re being so careful is a good sign. You’re doing great.”

“I really want it to stick this time. Not just for me, but for Des and Granny. I don’t want to disgrace our family like my mom did. I’m not going to let this thing control me anymore.” She blinks, her eyes watering before she forces a laugh and runs her fingers through her hair, the strands shimmering in the sunlight. “And sobriety has done wonders for my skin and hair.”

“I’m sure they will be proud of you no matter what. Just take it one day at a time.”

She smiles at that and turns into Des’s driveway. Clearing her throat, she pauses before getting out, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel.

“Thanks for listening. A few months ago, I never talked to anyone about this, and now? It’s all I blab about. It’s silly, really.”

“No, I don’t think that at all.” I place a hand on her arm. “Every day is a battle for you and probably will be for some time. Of course it’s something constantly on your mind. I love hearing about your progress, big or small. So don’t ever feel like it’s too much for me. Talk about it as much as you want—just know I’m proud of you.”

Her smile cracks and her face pinches as she lets out a strangled sob, and she reaches over the console to pull me into a hug.

“Seriously, Maya, you are so wonderful. I hope you’ll keep coming back after all your library business is over.”

My gaze drifts to the house in front of us as longing fills me. “I will. Promise.”

“Good. I was afraid I’d have to keep your spare part hostage so you’d stay longer.” She leans away and dabs a tissue at her eyes before tucking it in her jeans pocket. “Surprise, it’s arriving tomorrow. You’ll be able to drive around to your heart’s content.”

“Great,” I say, the word slowly deflating.

The thought of leaving this quaint town leaves a pit of dread in my stomach. I knew the day was coming and I shouldn’t be surprised, but I thought I had more time. I grab my necklace, running my thumb over it.

I’m not ready to leave yet.

“Come on, let’s go inside and see if Des can help you write up an appeal for your request so you can stop worrying.”

I nod, trying to shake the brain fog, and follow her inside. A fruity fragrance stops me at the door, like overripe strawberries freshly picked from the field. And from the looks of it, I’m not far off. A small trash can overflows with strawberry hulls, the nearby cutting board stained red.

Des is focused, not sparing us a glance as he mixes his giant stew pot with a wooden spoon. Gooey bubbles pop within, the liquid thick and sticky sounding.

“It’s about time you showed up. I need help chopping the— Maya .” His sentence ends in a shriek. “Hey. Hi. Glad to see you.”

His eyebrows are high, nearly hidden under his hairnet. He brushes his pink fingers down his frilly white apron, leaving streaks on the fabric.

“Reese just picked me up. But I have to say, I’m intrigued. What is with all the strawberries?”

“Maya, may I introduce you to the man behind Granny’s Jams? They are legendary in these parts. Most of the restaurants in Rocosa carry them.”

His face heats, matching the stains on his apron.

My jaw drops. “Is this your granny’s business? The one you told me about? You kept it going?”

He fidgets. “Yes.” Unable to handle the scrutiny, he turns back to the stove and mixes.

“Des.” I walk around the counter. “Don’t be embarrassed about making jam. I think it’s sweet.”

“It just feels a little emasculating when I hear it aloud.”

“The apron is doing that enough on its own,” Reese states before flopping on his couch.

“Hey! No lying down on the job. I need you over here prepping the next batch.”

“I can help,” I offer. “I mean, if you don’t mind showing me what to do. I’ve never made jam before.”

“Usually Reese...” He glances between me and his sister.

Reese waves us off. “If she wants to do it, by all means have at it. Taking up the jam business was your grand idea anyway,” she says, pulling out her phone to scroll. “I’ll help you taste test.”

“Of course you will.” He rolls his eyes.

She flounces on her back, sprawling out completely. “What can I say? I’m here to help.”

He presses his lips together and moves to the cutting board. “Don’t feel pressured because my sister is a lazy mooch.”

“No, I want to. It will actually give me something to take my frustration out on. What do you need chopped?”

He spins around, his silver eyes drilling into me. “What happened?”

I fill him in on Ms. Monroe’s email, even reading it word for word at his request.

“I knew she was going to do this. She was a bear to get past when we updated the schoolhouse two years ago.”

“But you did it? You were able to get her to sign off on ‘cosmetic changes’?”

“Not me but a hundred angry parents who signed my petition. You have to go to one of the meetings and wave it in her face.”

“I wouldn’t mind waving my fist in her face,” I grumble.

Des smirks. “No need to resort to violence. We’ll write up the petition tonight, and I’ll help you collect the signatures. Showing we have the town’s support is essential. It’s hard to say no to that.”

“Perfect. Mr. Sherman said he would sign as the founding family’s representative. When is their next meeting?”

“I’m not sure. It’s usually monthly.”

“I know,” Reese pipes up from the couch. “This Thursday. Lewis was complaining about parking. The spots on Main Street always fill up when there’s a meeting.”

“Thursday,” I repeat, nodding my head. “I won’t miss it.”

“Me too.” He cringes. “But if we do this, the whole town will know the library is closing. I know you were trying to avoid it.”

I sigh. “I know, but I have to. If I don’t tell them now, then they will think I just let this happen without a fight. And trust me, I’m giving Ms. Monroe everything I have. It’s going to be the best speech I’ve ever written.”

“Good. I can’t wait to see the look on her face when you go storming in there.” He smacks his fist into his palm. “You have to show her you mean business.”

“I will.” My lips quiver at the sight before me. “I’m sorry, it’s hard to take you seriously in that apron.”

He shakes his head, laughing. “It probably looked better on Granny than me.”

“I think it makes you look quite handsome,” I whisper, batting my eyelashes.

“Yeah?” He leans in closer.

“Now the hairnet?” I scrunch up my nose. “I’m not feeling it.”

“Well you will, because if you want to help you have to wear one of these beauties. But I can help you put it on.” He wiggles his eyebrows and hands one to me.

“Ew, you two. I’m still here,” Reese complains.

“You know you can leave if you’re not doing anything.” Des glares in his sister’s direction.

“Reese can’t leave.” I shove all my curls into the hairnet and let it snap into place. “She’s my ride.”

Des catches my chin in his fingers, and my breath hitches at his sudden contact.

“Maya, you’re my backpack. If I’m here, then I’m your ride. Always.”

The heat of his words sear me, like he has some claim on me. My hands reach out, pressing against his chest, my fingers curling in the soft cotton. The magnet between us pulses, demanding we remove the gap of space between us. I can’t stop my eyes from trailing to his lips.

“You two are going to burn the jam. I’m not sure if I should leave you unsupervised.”

“Go home,” Des tells Reese, not breaking eye contact with me.

“Fiiine. But at least stop googly-eyeing each other until the jam is finished.”

Des steps away to scowl at his sister. “Why are you like this?”

She shrugs and rattles her keys playfully as she walks to the door. “Oh, and I’m still getting my usual percentage of the profits.”

“As long as you stop by tomorrow and put all the labels on—straight this time.”

She huffs. “For the record, my labels are always straight. I’ll swing by after work and knock them out. I’ll even let you make dinner for me.” She smiles sweetly, then dashes out before he changes his mind.

He turns back to me, but the moment between us is long gone.

Picking up the knife, I add a handful of clean grapes to the red-tinted cutting board. “Cut these next, chef?”

His mouth quirks at the title, and he slides a bowl over for me to drop the pieces in to.

Working side by side, we get into a productive groove. The conversation flows effortlessly, as most things do with Des. I talk about the petition as we work but eventually transition to my bookmobile project. Then I pepper him with teaching questions and soak up all his responses and funny stories.

The best part is that he listens. He never interrupts or changes the topic like Felipe used to. It’s... refreshing. Like he’s actually interested in what I have to say versus waiting for me to finish so he can discuss himself again.

I catch myself more than once admiring his profile and letting myself daydream, only for a second, what it would be like if this wasn’t some random visit to Des’s, but an everyday occurrence. Cooking breakfast before we head off to work or making cookies together while we share about our day.

That this could be my new normal... to be with Desmond.

I stiffen, not expecting this at all.

“Are you ready?” he asks, distracting me from my thoughts.

I don’t know if I am. I blink in confusion when he holds up his wooden spoon, then I realize we are on two different pages.

Tendrils of steam drift up in hypnotic swirls from the pots, filling the space with the mouth-watering aroma. He offers the spoon to me, dramatically bowing over it. “You have earned the honor to pour.”

“Thank you, chef.” I cradle it with mock awe.

He winks at me, laughing.

My heart skips at the sound, my daydream coming back in full force. But it’s not a fluffy vision. It’s an ache, one that ripples through me and is impossible to ignore. The question is—do I want to anymore?

Oof. It’s a lot to process while wearing a hairnet.

Des holds the pots while I carefully scoop the fruity mixture into the jars. We set the lids on all the tops and move them back into the bubbling water.

“Now what?” I ask, watching the jars boil.

“Now, we wait.” He tosses his apron and our hairnets on a bar stool. “I promised to meet up with Cai and Tristen online for a quick game. You can join if you want. Or I could cancel if?—?”

I wave my hands. “No, no. This actually works out perfectly. I have five chapters left in my ebook, and I’ve been dying to finish it. It took sheer willpower to put it down so close to the end. Would that be okay if I read while you play?”

“Sure.”

We settle on the couch, close but not touching. He slides on his headset and boots up his game console. I hear a muffled hum of voices rumble through his headphones.

“Is this okay?” he asks.

I nod, not wanting to interrupt.

“Do you want a blanket? I store one in the coffee table for when it’s cold.” He lifts the top of the table and hands me a fluffy navy blanket with snowflakes.

“Thanks.” I immediately curl up into the soft folds, enjoying Des’s aftershave lingering on the fabric.

The corner of his mouth picks up as he stares at me. I brush a wayward curl behind my ear, ducking away from the intensity. Sometimes it’s like he sees more than just my appearance, but everything inside me too. My fears, my thoughts, my desires, and everything else I keep hidden away.

He sees me. All of me.

The question is whether or not that’s a good thing. I fidget, picking more frantically at the blanket’s loose thread the longer he stares.

“What is it?” I ask.

He lifts a shoulder like it’s not important.

“Am I hogging the blanket? Did you want to share?” I toss half of the blanket over Des’s lap.

“I’m…I’m just glad you stayed.”

Sound blares through the headset, and he rolls his eyes skyward. “I’m not talking to you guys. Nope, we’re not talking about that. Or that either. I’m only staying on to whoop you guys at football.”

I bite my lip to hold in a giggle as the smack talk starts up.

“Yes, I have a friend here, but she is not playing,” Des says, his finger tapping the controller buttons.

“Maybe another day,” I say, opening my phone to the e-reader app.

Des laughs. “Oh man. Cai heard you and challenged us to a 2v2 with his fiancée. You in?”

“I used to play with my brothers, but I should practice before I agree to anything.”

“Come over anytime you want.”

Noise blares through the headset again, and Des shakes his head. “We are about to play a silent match if you two don’t stop.”

Leaning back, I dive into my book, letting the world around me fade away. I’m instantly transported to a gloomy castle with hidden passages, forbidden magic, and a mysterious man in a golden mask.

Every so often, I vaguely hear Des’s hoots or grumbles, but the climax of the last two chapters has me in such a chokehold that I’m unable to peel my eyes away even for a second. Finishing the last sentence, I wake from my book coma, still straddling the line of fiction and the real world. Des’s living room blinks into focus, his TV off, the kitchen quiet. The two of us are relaxing together on the couch, a lot closer than I remember when I started my book.

“There you are. You were in a trance for the last hour.”

I sit straight up. “ An hour? ”

“All the jars have finished boiling and are cooling down.”

Blood rushes to my cheeks.

“Oh, goodness. Sometimes a good book just sucks me in, and I can’t put it down. Did I miss the game too? How did it go?”

He angles toward me, grinning.

“I’m guessing by your face it was a win.”

“Even better—it was a slaughter. I’ve never played so well before,” he says, then hooks an arm around my shoulder in a side hug. “You must be my good luck charm.”

The room charges at his simple touch, and that’s all it takes to set the butterflies in my stomach in motion. I hesitate for a second before convincing myself that friends hug each other all the time. Wrapping an arm across his chest, I allow myself to slide deeper into the hug so that his strong arms curl around me. His nose touches the spot behind my ear and he inhales deeply, like he had been wanting to do it for a while.

Doubts creep in the longer the hug lasts.

A friendly hug is one thing, and this was not it. A friend wouldn’t want to trace the muscles in his forearms the way my fingers itch to. A friend wouldn’t wonder what it would feel like to wake up in his embrace. A friend wouldn’t consider tilting her head so her lips would be easy access.

I suck in a breath when his thumb moves in slow circles on my side, his arms tensing like he’s fighting himself.

“Maya,” he whispers. It’s my name and yet it isn’t. It’s an admission. It’s a promise. It’s a question. “Please give me a chance. I’m not him nor will I ever be.”

For once, I’m torn. I do want Des. Goodness, I want him more than I should. But I’m scared. My heart can handle only so many bruises. The thought of repeating last December twists my stomach into knots. I can’t handle being discarded again when the next prettier girl walks by.

“Please don’t jump away... trust me.” He rests his cheek on my head, but his arms are still loose, letting me escape if I choose to.

It’s a risk, but one I can’t seem to say no to. I know Des is different, not because he told me so but because I’ve seen it over the days I’ve spent with him. I do trust him... and yet it’s hard to shut off the instinct inside me that screams to run at the first sign of commitment.

“I don’t know, Des.”

“I just want to hold you. Nothing more. If it’s too much, I’ll stop.”

The tension drains from my body inch by inch, until I am fully pressed against him, practically melting into his hard chest. We sit listening to the fireplace crackle and every so often one of the jam lids popping as it seals. Des runs a hand down my hair, stopping at the end so a curl can wrap around his index finger.

It’s a peaceful moment, so quiet that I can almost hear the steady beats of his heart as much as I feel them. I’ve never felt so connected to a person that even in the silence our bodies whisper to one another.

“I wish you weren’t leaving after the renovations,” he says, his voice gravely and deep.

“Me too.”

His breath catches, the steady beat in his chest accelerating. “Golden isn’t that far away. I could handle the commute.”

“Or I could ask my boss to allow me to bring my bookmobile to the school.”

There’s a long pause. “How much time do you think you have left until you have to go home?”

“Maybe this week? Next at the latest. I’m still working on the library, and Ms. Anderson has been really patient waiting for the data report. We just have to get the historical society on board.”

“We will. I typed up the petition while you were reading.” He angles his phone at me.

My heart flip-flops. “You did?”

“Absolutely. You’ve been fighting to keep the library doors open when you didn’t have to. The community here needs to step up and show our support. I hope this petition will encourage more to do the same after they read it. I see how many hours you are pouring in over this. Taking on such a big project, especially on your own and in secret, has been such a weight on your shoulders. I’m happy to help carry the burden.”

“Des...” I press a hand to my heart, overwhelmed with his kindness.

“It’s the truth. All of it.”

“Thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

His ears tinge pink. “Did you want to proof it?”

As I read, his fingers trace absentmindedly down the side of my arm in a lazy path. A few times I have to read a sentence again, distracted by the tingles coursing through my skin.

“This is exactly what I was looking for. How do we get all the signatures?”

“We’ll post it online and send it to everyone in town. I’ll print it out and bring it to the meeting. Can you send me some pictures of what you’re renovating?”

I nod. “I’ll do it tomorrow.”

“Good. And if we aren’t getting enough signatures, I’ll ask Aunt Birdie to make sure the word gets around.”

“Aunt Birdie... why does that sound familiar? Oooh. A pack of little old ladies cornered me on Main Street. They were searching for some mystery girl.”

He coughs and slides away, guilt splattered on his face in red blotches.

“What did you do, Desmond?”

“Remember when I couldn’t find you after I brought you to Rocosa? I might have accidentally released the unofficial neighborhood watch after you.” He winces. “I actually sorta forgot about it.”

“You forgot?! They interrogated me for almost thirty minutes. I think one lady wanted my dental records.”

Laughing, he shakes his head. “ Agh. I’m sorry. I tried to have Aunt Birdie call them off, but they are like a pack of bloodhounds on the scent. We can’t call them off the hunt.”

“You owe me. Big time.” I cross my arms.

“How about I take you to Denver’s most popular bookshop this weekend? You can pick out whatever you want—my treat. We can leave a little early this weekend before we meet up with everyone.”

“That’s a dangerous proposition for a book lover.” I jerk upright, slapping a hand on my forehead. “?Ay! This weekend! I can’t believe I forgot to tell you about Tío José’s restaurant opening. The whole family is going to help out. I don’t know how long they’ll need me there, so I don’t want to make any plans I can’t keep.”

“I understand.”

But he isn’t fast enough at hiding his disappointment.

“We can still ride into town together if you don’t mind leaving a bit earlier to drop me off.”

My heart flutters as his eyes travel over my face, a slow perusal filled with heat.

“You never have to ask. I don’t think I could say no to you, Maya.”