Chapter 32. Lenore
Lenore
There are no ritzy sit-down restaurants in a town as small as Whitbury, so we find ourselves spending our last night together slightly overdressed at the Penalty Box, splitting a wing platter and a basket of parmesan garlic fries while tucked into the same side of a dimly lit booth.
Cal props his injured ankle on the opposite seat.
A game blares on too many television screens and bar goers in football jerseys explode into shouts and jeers at regular intervals.
We order drinks and talk in an undertone, always touching—legs pressed together, a hand resting on a knee beneath the table, an arm slung around the back of the seat.
“We could still drive to Burlington,” he says. It’s not the first time he’s suggested it: nicer restaurants, a proper date night. But it seems a waste to spend my last night in Vermont in an unfamiliar town.
I have my wineglass tipped to my mouth, so I answer with a garbled “nm,” downing the rest and setting the glass on the table.
“I have a better idea.” I disentangle myself from the cramped booth, tugging down the hem of my sweater dress.
Cal slides out of the booth after me, collecting his crutches to follow me over to the pool table.
I unhook a cue from the wall mount. “Teach me how to play.”
“Well”—he points—“that’s a child’s cue, for starters.”
I look at it, rolling it between my fingers. “I probably should have guessed that.”
Cal leans his crutches against a high-top table and limps over to me. “Don’t be too hard on yourself,” he says in a low, taunting voice, and reaches past my head. “You can’t know everything.”
I exhale a dry laugh. We’re standing close, his body eclipsing the low light.
“This one,” he says, handing me a different cue, “is grown-up sized.”
I give him a scalding look from beneath my lashes and he takes a few steps back.
Light pools on the worn green felt from a Tiffany-style hanging lamp.
Cal bends across the table and drags the plastic triangle toward him, racking the billiard balls.
“All right, now chalk your cue,” he says, lifting his chin in my direction.
I search the wall rack for the small blue cube and do as he says.
“Position your cue ball anywhere along here,” he explains, drawing an invisible line in the air, “and then you’ll want to stand over here.”
I walk around to his side of the table and aim my cue at the scuffed ivory ball, scrunching one eye to line up the shot.
A hand brushes over my hip, feather light, and then his body is pressed up behind me.
“Bend over,” he says, warm breath fanning across the nape of my neck, “and move your feet farther apart.”
Electricity eddies around us, the same charged energy there’s always been, except tonight it feels like a promise. I don’t care who in this bar might be watching. Let them look.
I hit the cue ball and the rack clatters apart in every direction, bumping against the rails.
It’s impossible to keep our hands off each other on the drive back.
We stumble out of the truck and onto the porch, our mouths tangling together, fingers snarling in messy hair.
Even on an injured ankle, Cal flattens me against the storm door, rattling it on its hinges, and kisses me so hard that our teeth clack.
We’re clumsy, urgent in our need for each other—like it could be the last night, because it might be.
The light kicks on, startling us, moving us apart. For one fractured second, my brain whirls through the possibilities: that Damien is still here, that someone else has broken into the house.
“Motion sensor,” Cal reminds me. A breathy laugh escapes me, and I press a hand to my forehead.
“I have somewhere I want to take you,” he says. “Go change into something warm.”
I narrow my eyes, but his expression is hazy and impassive, all flushed lips and blown-out pupils.
I didn’t leave much unpacked to wear, so I pop the trunk to my rental car and disentangle some sweats from my ragtag suitcase.
Moments later, I’m changing in the truck while Callan drives us out to the dead center of a field.
I tug the sweatpants up beneath my sweater dress, fumbling with the drawstring.
“What are we doing out here?” It’s not like our tryst in the orchard, tucked between the dense rows of apple trees hugging the slope of the hill.
Out here, we’re exposed. There are no trees or buildings around for acres.
Cal cuts the engine but climbs out without answering.
I slip out of my dress and grab my crumpled hoodie, turning the arms right side out before tugging it down over my head.
I hop down into the knee-high grass. It’s a clear night, too cold for bugs.
I round the truck bed, where he has the tailgate folded down, pillows and blankets spread out.
My heart clenches. I climb up next to him and we lie down together, his arm tucked beneath my neck.
Cal points overhead. “I thought you might like to appreciate them one more night before driving back to the city.”
I follow his finger skyward, where my vision is still blotted against the dark by the porch light seared into my retinas. A few blinks, and stars unfurl.
I don’t know how to go back from this. I am changed—by him and by coming home. Me, but with a new layer of paint, fine-brush details adding up to the big picture.
I lean forward and brush my lips against his, a single point of contact tethering us together in a free fall. His palm sweeps across my back, flattening against my spine to lay me down in the bed of the truck, and he shifts his weight over me.
In his bedroom we were unhurried, taking our time to learn each other, in no rush because we had already waited half a lifetime to know each other like this.
Tonight feels different. It feels like time is running out.
There’s a reckless urgency in the way that we’re kissing, like we might get caught.
His tongue slides into my mouth with a groan, and he fists a hand in the back of my hair.
The weight of his hips pushes my thighs wider.
Desire pulses through me, rushing up to meet him.
I want to sink into it, to get so lost that I don’t know how to climb back out.
I hook my knees around his waist, holding him against me.
Numb fingers fumble with clothing, autumn air nipping our bare skin, hands scrubbing over goose bumps.
I touch his arms, his broad shoulders, the plane of his stomach, making a semiconscious effort to memorize all of him.
He lifts my sweatshirt without removing it, and then his head is halfway buried beneath the fabric, tongue tracing the line of my bra.
His fingers hook inside the cup, tugging it aside so that he can lick and suck until I’m writhing beneath him. “Please,” I whimper.
When he draws back to look at me, he’s got the sexiest bedhead I’ve ever seen, his pupils blown wide. His hand dips beneath the waistband of my sweatpants, and my hips arch into his touch, a desperate sound catching in my throat.
Cal watches me with his lips slightly parted, his expression half lidded, like he’s drunk on touching me.
His fingers work until I’m gasping, and my legs are quivering.
Stars prick behind my eyelids as my entire body wrenches tight.
“I love seeing you like this,” he says raspingly, and kisses my bare stomach.
I utter a tiny “oh” right before my mind shatters, pleasure wracking me in waves. His grin is roguish as he crawls back over me and captures my mouth in a kiss.
“You’re not done,” I say breathlessly, smiling, and my clumsy fingers scrabble with the button of his jeans.
Cal pushes up on his knees and shoves them down along with his boxers.
I follow suit, kicking a leg free from my sweatpants, and then he’s settling between my legs, and this time there’s nothing between us.
We both groan at the new sensation, the slide of skin against skin.
“Hold on a second.” With his eyes shut tight, he bows his head into my shoulder, chest heaving.
I shift beneath him, trying to look at him, my nose brushing against the scruff on his cheek. “Is everything okay?”
“Hm,” he confirms without lifting his head, the sound rumbling through his chest between us. “You feel so good like this. I just—need a minute before I put on a condom.”
“I’ll feel even better once you’re inside me,” I breathe against his cheek. I slip a hand between us, wrapping it around him with a slow stroke.
“Fuck.” A breath gusts out of him. “All right. Hold on.” He pushes back, sucking a breath through his teeth when he settles too much weight on his ankle.
I prop up on my elbows and watch as he digs through the jeans bunched around his knees, our need too frantic to bother fully undressing.
Within seconds, he’s tearing open the foil wrapper and rolling on the condom.
Moonlight sluices over his inky hair, the strong line of his nose, his expression taut with restraint.
“You,” I say, somewhat deliriously, “are beautiful.”
Cal breathes a laugh as he crawls back over me. “I think that’s a first.”
“You’ve never been called beautiful,” I surmise, eyes ticking back and forth between his.
“I don’t think you’ve ever officially paid me a compliment,” he teases, but his voice is smoky with something softer than lust, harder to name. With our eyes locked, he reaches between us to position himself, and then he’s pushing into me.
My fingernails bite into his biceps at the mounting pressure, and I let out a shaky breath. His hips ease back a little, and he presses his forehead against mine, eyes falling closed.
I hook my calves around him and pull him deeper. We both gasp as he settles into me fully. “I told you about going slow,” he bites out.
“I don’t want you to be slow with me tonight.”
Haltingly, his hips begin to move. A hand grips my thigh, holding it aside as he sets a hard pace, until a moan rips from my throat at the unbelievable pressure.
It’s almost too much to bear, in the best way.
I brace my hands above my head, against the back of the truck cab, groping wildly for something to tether me. I think maybe I gasp out his name.
I’m lost in our rhythm, the way we feel together, pleasure tangling with something deeper.
I fist the back of his hair and drag his mouth down to mine, the kiss messy and faltering as our bodies rock together.
His hand snakes between us to touch me again, and within minutes we’re both right there, the sensation so intense that there’s nothing I can do but clutch him like he’s the one thing stopping me from being cast adrift.
At last, we ease apart, shivering and gasping.
Cal looks down at me, swiping a hair from my cheek, and kisses me.
It’s the best sort of kiss, exhausted and achingly vulnerable.
Warmth blooms in my chest, spreading outward until I worry that I’m too small to contain it, that it’s bigger than either of us.
Afterward, we lie together with my head resting in the crook of his shoulder, staring up at the stars with our chests still heaving.
“I’m going to miss you,” I whisper, a confession that feels far too small beneath the cavernous night sky.
Cal shifts his head and takes a breath. My heart twists into a knot, terrified of what he might say, not sure I’m ready to hear it.
I press my fingers against his lips. His eyes search mine in the dark, and his expression softens into one of understanding.
He threads his fingers with mine and presses a kiss to my palm.
“What if I stayed,” I ask quietly.
Cal shifts onto his side, hand propping up his head. “You’re not actually considering it.”
“Nothing makes sense anymore.” I angle my body toward his, pressing a hand to his chest. “Except this. This makes sense.”
A muscle flexes in his jaw, and his eyes flit back and forth between mine. “What about the house?”
“I don’t know,” I admit. I have nowhere to go. Which makes the idea a moot point. As tempting as it would be to ask to stay with him for a while, it’s only a temporary solution, and I don’t want to rush this. I don’t want to make a mess out of something that has so much potential.
Cal pushes his fingers into my hair, sweeping unruly strands from my eyes.
“Or you could come with me,” I say softly.
A quiet laugh blows out of him. “Me, in New York.” He studies my hand knotted with his, not quite meeting my eye. “It’s hard to picture.”
“It wouldn’t have to be forever,” I say.
Cal pushes into a sitting position with his legs bent in front of him, his shoulders facing me. “I don’t know, Nore.” He drags a hand over his face. “I belong here. My dad needs me here.”
There are no crickets out tonight to fill the silence. I sit up, leaning forward to rest my chin on his shoulder. “How can you know that for sure, when you’ve never lived anywhere else?” I ask, but my voice sounds tiny, insignificant.
He angles his head to look at me. “Sometimes,” he says, “you just know.”
Tears prick my eyes. My heart pitches low, a buoy in rough waters, bobbing but steadfast. I’ll survive this. We both will, somehow. “Yeah,” I say weakly, “I know that feeling.”
Dark blue eyes search my face, like he’s seeking permission for something. A confession dangles on the tip of my tongue. My pulse ticks faster, the anticipation before the plunge, but I can’t seem to drag my feet across the edge.
Instead of saying anything, I shift onto my knees so that we’re at eye level with one another. I take his face into my hands, his short beard scratchy beneath my palms, and bring my mouth to his.
Later, we curl up in bed together until the sun comes up.
“We’ll make it work,” I say, like it’s a prayer.
Maybe it could be that simple. We embrace the unknown for a little while, in hopes that it’ll work out in the end. That somehow, if we’re meant to be, the universe will rearrange itself so that everything falls right into place.
My cheek is pressed against his bare chest so that I feel the next words rumble through him. “You go,” he says, “and I’ll be here whenever you get back.”
We don’t say what we really mean, because it would make everything harder. We leave a lot of things unsaid, in the hope that there will be time to say them later. We don’t even say goodbye, in hopes of never having to say it at all.