THIS LOVE #3
“It’s better now. So much better.” I draw closer, tucking my head under his chin and snuggling into the Jordan-free-and-clear scent I adore so much.
I don’t bother telling him that my day wasn’t bad at all.
It was the manic night closing in on me that was the problem.
It was that I hadn’t seen him all day and desperately wanted to.
It was being alone in this room when I only ever want to be in his arms from today forward.
But it’s over now, because he’s here, and somewhat impossibly, we’ve found ourselves together.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
I shake my head and pull back so I can see him better, placing my hand over his heart, where the tattoo of a pair of aces lives beneath the soft shirt he’s wearing. “Tell me about this one?”
Licking his lips, he hesitates, and I think maybe I’ve pushed him too far. Maybe I should have considered that today is a hard day for both of us. But then, he answers with a glint of tears in his eyes. “I got it the day Molly was born.”
I answer with a kiss to his chest, to the heart I love so much.
“And today? What tattoo did you get?”
Smiling, his eyes crinkle behind his glasses.
I reach up and trace his smile lines with my finger.
He sighs, then lightly pinches my chin between his fingers, drawing our mouths so close together I can feel his breath against my lips.
“Tell me what happened here first, Red. Tell me how I can help you.”
“I hated the wallpaper, and…” Do I dare tell him? It doesn’t make sense, yet I think Jordan might be just about the only person who will understand. “I wanted to kiss you.”
His breath stops altogether. Eyes, flicking back and forth, like he’s looking for signs of confusion. But I’m determined not to give him any. I’ve got more clarity right now than I’ve had in a while.
“I wanted to kiss you all day, Jordan. But I needed this wallpaper down first.”
I close my eyes against the feel of his thumb slowly running across my lower lip, every nerve ending alive at the simple, light touch.
“Red,” he says. “Look at me.”
I shake my head, eyes shut tight, and instead kiss the tip of his finger. The one still resting on my lips. He sucks in a breath, and I think I might combust. “Kiss me, Jordan. Please.” Before he can, I press another peck to his fingertip. “And call me sweetheart again.”
I open my eyes just in time to see Jordan closing the space between us.
He draws me in slowly, as calculated and intentional as he’s always been, but his eyes are on fire.
He looks like a man starved. Like he’s been as desperate for this kiss as I have.
Maybe, absurdly, moreso. I don’t realize I’m trembling until our lips connect and his hands, covered in rough calluses, cradle my face.
The eventuality of this kiss, this connection, feels like a handwritten love note delivered at the perfect time.
Like a freshly picked bouquet with only my very favorite flowers in mind.
As he makes slow and deliberate movements—a turn of his head, a caress of his fingertips, the shifting of our bodies so we’re just so—this kiss feels like Jordan has carefully studied every inch of me before ever even getting to this point. And he’s an expert.
Maybe “I want to kiss Emory Nelson today” has been on the top of his must-do list, too. Maybe he’s wanted to be here all day. I think maybe, definitely, he loves me back.
We take our time, kissing and exploring exactly like I’ve envisioned all day.
Only I never imagined our first kiss would be on my bedroom floor under a scarred ceiling.
That I’d finally feel Jordan’s hands in my hair, along my back, tracing the curves of my waist and hips, surrounded by the remnants of my grief.
A grief we’ve shared. A pain we’ve battled and survived.
He’s the one to slow us down, pressing soft kisses to the edge of my mouth, my cheeks, my neck, and just below my ear.
“Tell me this is real,” he whispers, kissing my lips one last time. “I’ve wanted…” He clears his throat. “I’ve wanted this for so long, Emory. I’m afraid I’ll wake up in the barn and this will all have been a dream.”
“You should probably stay here, then. Just to be safe.”
“Okay, Sweetheart.” He pulls me over the right side of his chest, tucking my head under his chin.
My contented smile will most assuredly be permanent. “Jordan?” I whisper, when his breaths grow deeper just before sleep.
“Hmmm?”
“What tattoo did you get today?”
He lifts the side of his shirt where my body isn’t laying, stretching it so I can see the new ink framing the ten year old playing cards over his heart. Even in the darkness, I can see the outlines of three sprigs of a delicate, purple flower. It looks a lot like lavender.
“I love them.” I say, instead of I love you.
“I do, too.” And almost as if he read my thoughts, he says, “We don’t need to rush anything, okay? We’ll take this at whatever pace you need to. I’ll go sleep on the couch in a minute.”
“And what if I never want you to leave?” I ask, closing my eyes.
“Then I’m gonna need those matching PJs.”