Chapter 33
Everly
That clean sandalwood scent—not too spicy, not too sweet.
Equal parts clean skin, fresh air and just manly enough to make my mouth water.
I want to touch him, hug him, kiss him. I tuck my hands under my legs, stretching them out on the chaise lounge.
I could use a sip of the water I just brought out for us, but I don’t trust my hands not to reach for him.
I need to say what I asked him here to say.
“So beautiful tonight.” The sky is brimming with so many colors and designs, it brings tears to my eyes.
In some ways this makes me feel like the oldest eighteen-year-old on the planet.
Like maybe only those who have come face-to-face with the fragility of life can stop and appreciate the simple gift of a setting sun.
God willing, that usually means a bit more age and experience before you get to that place.
Most of us race through life from one stress-inducing self-imposed deadline to another, never stopping to appreciate the last deadline met.
Or have the luxury of stressing over minor things, like wrong coffee orders and stolen parking spots—something my dad was always quick to point out when he was home.
I remember the sky the day we buried him.
It was angry and gray, the air warm and muggy, but right after the service, the sun broke through the clouds and set the sky on fire.
I also remember the sky the day I read the words carelessly posted about me by malicious girls out of misplaced loyalty.
That day I thought, just for a split second, maybe things would be easier without me here.
The sun dipped behind a cloud in that exact moment, and the sky darkened before it began to pop back out.
It sent beams shooting across the sky in camera-worthy vibes—no filter needed.
It was so beautiful and bright it stung my eyes and allowed me to breathe.
His words pull me out of my introspection.
“It is.”
I turn my head toward him, where my eyes fix on the deep penetrating blue of his. He’s not looking at the sunset. He’s looking at me. Tears sting behind my eyes. I blink as much to ward them off as to break the spell of his gaze. Spit it out, Ev.
“I . . . um . . .” Dr. Franklin, my high school counselor, once told me the trick to curbing nerves when speaking is to unload the thing in the forefront of your mind.
Confess it to your audience and get them on your side.
Of course, she meant for public speaking, and why it popped into my head now, I couldn’t say. Except that the nerves feel the same.
He’s watching me patiently, calmly.
I take a deep breath, blow it out through puffed cheeks and say the thing in the forefront of my mind. “I . . . love you.” I exhale with the admission.
“I know.” One dimple peeks out before he schools his expression into calm reserve again.
Looking down at my fidgeting hands, I continue before I lose myself in that glimpse of a dimple.
“So much that I . . . I’m concerned I . .
. I need to be okay with or without you.
” I pause to see if he’ll say anything. He doesn’t.
“I know I have nothing to compare it to, but what we have”—I wag my finger between us, looking up into his face still composed and fixed on me—“is so good, I almost can’t describe it with words.
Maybe that’s why we . . .” I look back down at my hands, purposely flatten them on my thighs and go on.
“I’m trying to be sincere here, but . . . do it like rabbits.”
His sharp bark of laughter kicks my eyes to his.
The flame in my cheeks travels down my neck and settles on my chest. He stifles his laugh immediately at my blush, but the corners of his eyes reflect his amusement.
Once his expression completely sobers, he still waits, quietly tapping his fingers on his chest.
“I don’t like feeling insecure and . . .
jealous. Or like I could lose you at any moment.
I think the only way for me to battle that is to .
. . feel more confident in who I am.” I take a breath and add, “On my own.” If I wasn’t looking directly at him, I might have missed the panic.
But I was looking, despite it flashing through his eyes like a streak of lightning and disappearing just as quickly.
It gives me the boost of confidence I need to continue.
“I don’t want to lose you. Or us.” I wag my finger between us again, prompting a slight nod from him.
Encouraged, I forge on. “Can we . . . would you . . .” I trail off, unsure of myself again.
“I’ve never done this before.” I grimace on a shaky exhale.
He reaches his hand across the table between us and lays his palm lightly on the back of my hand but doesn’t speak.
I turn my hand over automatically, lace my fingers with his and squeeze. “I want to date,” I announce.
His eyebrows disappear under the longer strands of hair dusting his forehead.
Rushing on, I add, “I want to live here, and you live there.” I gesture toward Allie’s. “And we . . .”
“Date,” he finishes for me when I pause too long, squeezing my hand. Then he lifts our joined hands and kisses the back of mine, relief etched in every detail of his body.
Every cell in my body exhales—his touch like oxygen.
“Yeah.” I smile softly.
“Okay.” He mirrors my smile, still holding the back of my hand and resting it on his cheek.
“Okay?” My eyebrows arch, my lips slightly agape.
His low chuckle tells me my answer as he sandwiches my hand in both of his. But he adds, “Yeah.” He glances out at the now almost black sky. The night sounds of frogs and crickets grow louder, the stars brighter. “To be fair, I’ve never done this either.”
“Never done what?” I’m genuinely confused.
“Dated.” He says it with a laugh in his voice.
“Really?”
“Really.”
“You and Taya . . .”
“Never went on one date,” he finishes for me.
“Hmm. Is it okay if that makes me ridiculously happy?”
His baritone chuckle makes my whole face smile. “Yeah, sassy girl, it’s okay. In fact, I kinda like it.”
“Yeah?” I ask this boldly, feeling more like myself than I have in days.
“Oh yeah.” There is no mistaking the desire behind his words, but he confirms it with his next words. “Can I kiss you? Or hug you?”
“Do I have to choose?” I smirk, even more confident now.
Without warning, he tugs my hand, pulling me onto his lap.
I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to how strong he is.
But once the momentum of his pull lifts me off the chair, his other arm snakes around and under me and settles me quite impressively in his lap.
Sitting sideways with my knees curled into him, I press my lips to his neck and inhale deeply.
Like a drug, his scent soothes my senses.
I move my hand up his chest, across the soft fabric of his snug-fitting T-shirt and feel his slight wince. I pull back to look at him, but he just takes that hand and presses my palm to his lips. “Are you hurt?” My brows crease, making a line between my eyes.
Shaking his head, he murmurs, “Uh-uh.” He releases my hands to frame my cheeks and bring my face to his.
Velvet-soft lips brush mine, once, twice.
The third time he touches them to mine, I tilt my head enough to fuse our lips completely.
We open our mouths perfectly in sync, our tongues tasting, exploring, until I’m twisting and straddling him, deepening the kiss even more.
Within moments we’re both panting. His fingers are tangled in my hair; my hands clench the back of his neck.
He ends the kiss the way he started it—soft, velvet kisses—but his breathing is labored, like mine. Pressing his forehead to mine, he works to catch his breath. “Are we breaking the . . . is this okay?”
“I sure fucking hope so.” I smile, still catching my breath.
“I love you, sassy girl.”
“I can tell.” I squirm a little on his lap, feeling every inch of just how much he loves me.
His hands grip my hips, halting my movements.
“I’m going to need to know how this works.
I want to . . . I want this—us—to be what you need it to be.
” He’s saying this against my lips, his forehead pressed to mine.
When I don’t immediately respond, he adds, “Just tell me what you want, Ever. I love you. I always will. Nothing will ever change that. But I also want to love you how you need to be loved.”
Because I’m sitting on him and he’s wearing thin joggers and he’s not a small guy, I feel every bit of his restraint.
But his body can’t lie. His bulge twitches against my center, sending a shock to the nerves there.
And while I resist the urge to press into him, I find the courage to speak plainly.
On a long exhale, I say, “I want to live here alone, if you’ll let me .
. . rent it?” I don’t wait for an answer and continue before I lose my nerve to be frank.
“I want to roll it back a little from living together and act more like a new couple. I don’t want to not have sex because .
. . well, I like it and that seems like unnecessary torture.
I just want a chance to become a whole person in my own right, separate from us.
Know who I am beyond the couple. So if you’re willing .
. . can we date but still . . . have sleepovers sometimes?
” I shrug afterwards and hold my breath, eyes down, forehead still on his.
Pulling his head back from mine, he engulfs my cheeks in his hands and waits until I bring my eyes back to his.
The solar lights around the deck kick on in the growing darkness and illuminate his features.
“Of course.” He places a swift kiss on my lips.
“I’m in awe of you, Everly Tate Davis. Are you sure you’re not a reincarnated thirty-year-old? ”
“What did I tell you about referencing women’s ages?” I mock-scold him, hoping we’re done with the serious portion of the program. If he heard that thought, he’d retract his compliance—which makes me giggle to myself again.
Holding up his hands in surrender, he answers, “My bad.”
“Wanna go eat? I’m sure it’s cold by now, but it reheats well.” I nuzzle my lips into the space just below his ear. He smells so good and tastes even better.
Julian leans into my lips, and I feel the rumble of his reply in his chest. “M-hm.” He stands fluidly with me in his arms. When gravity wants to pull my feet to the deck, I wrap my legs around his waist. His arms engulf me so completely our bodies fuse into one.
As he makes his way inside, I tuck my nose behind his ear, planting little kisses there. Once inside, I unwrap my legs and plant my feet on the floor.
Before he lets me go, he kisses me fully and unhurriedly. When he does end the kiss and step back, his eyes look almost black in the muted light of the living room.
I know that hungry look. Instinctively I lick my lips.
His eyes track the movement of my tongue. “You said it reheats well, right?”
“M-hm.”
“Good.” He sweeps me into his arms and carries me down the hall, purpose in every step, like he knows exactly how this night will end. “Ever?” He’s nuzzling my ear when I hear my name on his lips like a question.
“Yeah?”
“I’m so proud of you.” He sets me on my feet to look at me. With his hands resting on my neck and jaw, he continues. “I mean it. You’re incredible. And you make me want to be better.”
My smile makes my cheeks ache. I ignore the tiny tug of guilt over my college experience.
“I feel the exact same way about you.” He’s already shaking his head, so I stop him with one finger on his lips.
“I mean it. Julian, you are the most unexpected gift. And I want to be better for you too. For us.”
“Okay, sweet girl. We’ll be better together.”
“That’s the plan.”
“There’s a plan?” He winks, and I nod in response. “Oh, good.” He rolls his eyes in mock relief. “I told you I’ve never dated before, so I might need a map.”
“Me neither, so we can make our own map.”
“I love you, Ever.” He kisses me so sweetly.
“I love you, Julie. We’ve got this. You and me.” I pet the scruff on his jaw.
“You and me.” He draws lazy circles around my ears, piercing me with hypnotic blue eyes.
I nod in agreement, but he shakes his head earnestly.
“I mean it. Nothing can touch us. Not the past. Not the future. It’ll always be you and me.
” He stops drawing circles and brings my face to his for a claiming kiss.
“You and me,” I repeat, nodding.
“You and me.” He echoes it like a mantra.
I stamp down the nagging thoughts fighting for space in my love haze, as well as the glimpse of unease I see in his eyes. I know what clouds my mind—my actions in Pismo. What’s clouding his? A blonde-haired, green-eyed girl back from the dead? I stuff it all down.