14. Regret is a hell of a drug #2
Heat billows out of the oven as I pull the door open, and the scent of cheap pepperoni pizza washes over me, bringing a wave of repressed memories.
Store-bought pizza was a means of survival for us after our parents died.
We didn’t have much back then, but we made do.
I don’t have time to walk down memory lane, so I tamp them down.
“Oven mitts are in the top drawer to the left,” she says as she scrolls mindlessly on her phone.
I pull the pizza out of the oven and set it on the counter to cool. “Pizza cutter?”
“Scissors on the side of the fridge.”
“What kind of monster cuts pizza with scissors?”
“Says the guy who makes children cry,” she teases. “It’s a thousand times easier. Trust me. And while you’re at it, grab the bottle of hot honey. Top cabinet on the left.”
The scissors are exactly where she said they’d be, tucked in a small cone-shaped pouch on the side of the fridge. It looks vintage and possibly handmade. The first cut feels like a crime, but I’m loath to admit she was right—it is easier.
I grab two plates and fill them with two slices each before shoving the bottle of hot honey in the crook of my arm. “Grab us some sodas and follow me.”
She stands with the knit blanket wrapped around her curvy body, stopping by the fridge for two cans of Diet Coke, then she follows me into the hallway.
“Where are you taking me?”
I silently lead her out of her apartment and down to the far end of the hallway.
“This feels like some serial killer shit.”
“First you accuse me of making children cry, now you think I’m a murderer. I left a hell of an impression on you.” I stop outside the window that leads to the emergency exit, stack the plates to free one of my hands, and slide open the bottom pane. “It’s a wonder you accepted my proposal.”
We settle side by side on the slatted metal platform; the only thing between us is a bunched-up blanket. I probably should’ve thought this through.
I pass her a plate and the condiment bottle.
She slowly takes the items from my hands, her expression wary.
“Promise I’m not gonna push you off. Sometimes I come out here when I need to think. It’s peaceful.”
She eyes me curiously, drizzling hot honey over her first slice. “Hmm. You know what I think?” she says. “I think you’re a secret softie. Like M&M’s. Hard on the outside and soft in the middle.”
An involuntary smirk slips free. “Nobody’s ever accused me of being soft.”
Her eyes widen, and her jaw goes slack. “Did you just smile? Holy shit.”
I scoff. “No.”
She points at me with the hot honey clenched in her fist. “You totally did! I made Noah Asshole Weston smile!”
“That’s not my middle name,” I mumble around a bite of too-hot pizza, trying to chew and suck in cool air at the same time as it threatens to burn my mouth.
“What’s your middle name?”
My expression sobers. “August.”
“He’s named after you?”
I nod. “Jonah and me… we used to be close.”
“That’s Auggie’s dad, right?”
“Yeah. We’re twins so we’ve always had a special bond.”
“You mean there’s two of you? I should write your parents a sympathy card.”
“They died.”
She sucks in a breath, and her shoulders draw up. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, Noah. I didn’t know. I shouldn’t have—”
“It’s ok. It was a long time ago.” My first mistake is laying my hand on her thigh.
“Can I ask what happened?”
“Mom overdosed. Dad got high and crashed his bike into a tree a week later.” I swallow against the tightness in my throat. “We were eighteen at the time. Emma was twelve so we practically raised her after that.”
Clio’s hand touches mine, and there’s my second mistake. I don’t pull away. “I know they’re just words, and that won’t bring them back or make the pain go away, but I’m sorry you had to go through that.”
My own words are the nail in the coffin, setting free a series of confessions I’d kept buried beneath the surface.
“Everybody always said we were just like our mom. I guess Jonah took it literally.” I resist the impulse to thread our fingers, pulling my hand away instead.
“Auggie’s mom overdosed last year. They arrested Jonah on manslaughter charges for giving her the drugs.
Emma thinks he’s innocent, but I don’t know what to believe.
She’s always tried to see the best in him, even at his lowest.”
“When you’re at your lowest is when you need people the most. Whether you accept that help is a different matter entirely.” Spoken like a true optimist. “Did you ask him if he did it?”
“I couldn’t, but he told me anyway. He said if he’d known what she had planned, he never would’ve let her go.”
She stacks her empty plate on top of mine and wraps her arms around her legs. “Has Jonah ever lied to you before?”
“No, but there’s a first time for everything.”
“He sent Auggie to you for a reason—he obviously trusts you. That has to count for something.”
“Yeah. I guess.”
The quiet call and response of crickets fills the void.
A sudden gust of wind rustles the trees below, and Clio shivers against me.
I pull the blanket over her exposed shoulder where a constellation of freckles calls to me.
I catch a whiff of her orange blossom scent as my fingers graze her cold skin.
She draws in a quick breath, and her eyes catch mine, my new favorite color sparkling in the moonlight. My gaze lowers to her rosy pink lips, slightly parted. If I leaned in just a bit, I could kiss her.
I can’t kiss her.
“Noah?”
“Yeah, princess?”
“Would you… God, this is so stupid. Never mind.”
“Now I have to know.”
She fidgets with that same thread again, and I rest my hand over hers, stopping the motion.
“Would you kiss me?”
I open my mouth, but she cuts me off before I can say anything.
“It’s just that… I haven’t been kissed in so long, I don’t even remember what it feels like.”
“How long?” I ask hoarsely, standing on the precipice of what might be my biggest mistake of all.
“What?”
“How long has it been since you were kissed? And I mean really kissed. Not just some peck on the cheek.”
“Seventeen years.” The words come out on an exasperated sigh.
I repeat them as though they might start to make sense a second time, but no matter how I try to math it out, it doesn’t compute. “Seventeen years…”
“It was Lexi’s dad.”
Something like jealousy washes over me, but that can’t be it. That’s ridiculous.
So, why does she suddenly feel like mine?
“There hasn’t been anyone since?”
She tucks her hair behind her ear and nibbles on her bottom lip. “I was too focused on Lexi. Then school. After that it was work. The only people I meet these days are other teachers or parents of my students, and I don’t make a habit of kissing their dads.”
“But I’m not Auggie’s dad,” I murmur more to myself than anything.
“No. Technically not.”
“So, your rule doesn’t apply.” My hand moves of its own accord, cupping her round cheek in my large palm. “I could kiss you.”
“You could kiss me.” The words come out breathy, drifting away on a breeze.
“If I wanted to.”
“Do you want to?”
“God, yes.”
The air crackles between us.
“I might be bad at it,” she says.
“I doubt that.” My gaze trails down to those perfectly soft pink lips I’ve been dreaming about for months as my thumb arches over her cheekbone in a soft caress.
If Clio hasn’t been kissed in seventeen years, I want to make it good for her.
It’s an honor I don’t deserve but fuck if I’m not going to relish it.
I lean forward, and her eyes drift shut, a soft exhale ghosting over my cheek as I press my mouth to her right cheekbone. I move lower to her jaw, then to the other side where I draw a path across the freckles on her cheeks.