10. Bex #2
I nod. “I used to come around here sometimes when I was an apprentice, just to get away from the noise. If you sit quietly, you can hear the train yards, or ships on the river.”
She closes her eyes for a moment, listening. A faint cargo horn sounds in the distance, low and mournful. Then she looks at me, her eyes reflecting the lamppost glow.
“Thank you,” she says.
“For what?”
“For… showing me this. Letting me experience something not on a schedule.” Her mouth tips in a wry smile. “It’s… freeing. And I don’t do enough of that.”
My throat goes tight. “Anytime,” I say. Then I shift on the bench, facing her more directly. “Seriously.”
Her gaze slips to my mouth, just for a beat, then back to my eyes. My pulse jumps. We haven’t spoken about the kiss inside the shop. I can see her debating whether to mention it directly. I’m not sure if I want her to.
A car rumbles past, headlights sliding across the magnolia tree. She arches her neck, watching the shapes of the branches. “So,” she says softly, “tonight was… unexpected.”
“Yeah,” I say, trying for casual.
“And I’m not sure what to do with that.”
I understand her meaning. We kissed, we didn’t discuss it, we snuck away together. That’s a lot for one evening.
I scrub my neck. “We don’t have to define anything at this moment.”
Her eyes flick to my face. “I know, but I also feel like ignoring it would be… strange.”
“Agreed.” I swallow. “I just… I don’t want you to feel rushed. Or pressured. Or that it was a dare that doesn’t mean anything. Because it could be more than a dare. But if you’re not ready…”
She lifts her hand. “I’m not rewriting the entire itinerary of my life off one kiss. But I’m also not ignoring that it—” She cuts herself off, cheeks pink, then starts again. “It felt… real.”
My stomach flips, heat crawling up my spine. “It felt real to me too.”
Silence. It’s not uncomfortable anymore, just heavy with possibilities.
Kit’s eyes drop to her bandaged wrist. She rubs it gently. “I made a permanent decision tonight,” she says, voice almost reflective. “I didn’t plan it, but I’m… glad I did.”
I sense she’s talking about more than just the camera ink.
We sit there for a few moments, letting the city’s hush fill the space. In the distance, a lone saxophone croons from someone’s open window. Warm wind brushes my cheek.
Suddenly, I realize I’m leaning in. Just enough to close that six-inch gap. Her lips part in a small gasp. She doesn’t move away.
“Is this okay?” I ask quietly, bridging the last inch.
She nods, not speaking.
I kiss her again. Not in front of an audience, not for a dare, but because I want to. She tastes faintly of soda, her lips pliant. There’s a cautiousness to her first response, like she’s verifying that this is real. Then she settles into it with a gentle sigh.
This time, we linger longer, hush cocooning us. My hand finds the curve of her shoulder, feeling how steady she is. Her fingers curl around my waist, hesitant but purposeful. We shift into each other, and the bench creaks.
Everything else dissolves. The city, the day, the swirling demands of wedding logistics. All that remains is her mouth, the softness of her breath, the heart-thud in my chest that says I could get used to this.
Eventually, we break apart. She’s flushed. I can see it even in this faint lamplight. I’m sure I’m the same. We stare at each other in stunned silence. Then we both laugh quietly, some breathy release of tension.
“I definitely don’t want tonight to end,” she murmurs, voice barely above a whisper.
A warm wave of relief floods me. “Then let’s not, at least not yet. We can keep walking, or find a place with late-night food. Or we can sit here for another hour, I don’t care.”
She arches an eyebrow. “Indecision from you, Bex? That’s surprising.”
I chuckle. “I’m full of surprises.”
And so is she. We grin at each other in the dark, the unspoken acknowledgment that we both just took a step off our usual paths and ended up here.
She stands, dusting off her dress. Some faint grass clings to the hem. I rise too, checking the block for passing cars. There’s hardly anyone around. The moment feels suspended in time.
Kit reaches for my hand, hesitates, then does it anyway. Her fingers thread through mine, tentative but deliberate. That small contact sends a spark through my arm. I exhale, giving her a gentle squeeze.
We leave the park behind, strolling deeper into the neighborhood.
We pass a stray cat perched on a fence, a ramshackle porch with wind chimes tinkling in the breeze.
My mind grapples with how easily she let me lead her here.
This is Kit, queen of spreadsheets, letting me show her a midnight corner of the city no tourist brochure includes.
Another block, she points out a mural on a side wall, vibrant swirls of color even in near-darkness.
I glance at her, noticing how that single curl rests against her neck.
I want to brush it away, but I suspect that might escalate us into another drawling, late-night kiss. Then again, maybe we want that.
We wander. The hush between us is easy now, less loaded, more companionable. My phone buzzes a couple times, missed messages from Sofia probably, but I ignore it. I suspect Kit’s ignoring her phone too.
Just us, the city, the faint rich smell of magnolias.
For once, neither of us is in a hurry to decide what’s next. We’re just here, together, me guiding her through a side of New Orleans that loves to let people be who they really are. She’s letting herself be that, in small, precious increments.
I glance at her again. She’s got a tiny smile playing on her lips, a private kind of contentment. I have no idea what tomorrow will bring, but right now, I know I want more time with this version of her.