Chapter 26 #2
Where does one go from here? I know where we don’t go, and that’s upstairs or anywhere with a bed.
As much as I like Levi—and I really do—there are some glaring asterisks I should go over before we go any further.
But as we glide through the empty house, the tension builds like we’re in our own little Instant Pot.
We find ourselves in the kitchen, which is great because I’m starving.
He flips around, his back to the counter. “Cravings?”
I hop up on the island, legs dangling from the edge, and déjà vu hits hard. He must feel it too because his mouth tips into a crooked smile.
“I, um...” I exhale all we’re not saying. “As hungry as I am, maybe we should talk first.”
His blue eyes seem to twinkle before saying, “Okay, shoot.”
And all of a sudden, I’m a blank page again, cursor bouncing wildly, giggling at my inability to string words together.
“I can’t think when you’re staring at me.”
“I like staring at you. Plus, I think we’re about to have a conversation...”
“I know, I know. Can you start cooking and then just give me an acknowledging glance every now and then?” I’m being weird, but he doesn’t point it out. Instead, he just pushes off the counter and walks into his favorite room in the house—the pantry.
“So, you were saying,” he calls, but his eyes are directed on the shelves in front of him. I release a sigh, head dropping to my chest.
“I like you. I think we have fun together.” I look up and catch his nod. “But this is all temporary, maybe more temporary for me than you, and I just don’t want you to get hurt. You know, hole up in your room, tissues, and ice cream, watching a string of Meg Ryan movies back-to-back.”
A laugh barks out of him as he comes up beside me at the island, dropping a couple cans of beans, some tortilla chips, pickled jalapenos, and salsa fresca. He inspects the ingredients, checking off some mental list in his head, before pushing off towards the fridge.
“So, other than my well-being, and the competition ending, you like me.” He’s grinning so wide his cheeks nearly hide the blue of his eyes.
“You live in Tennessee, and I live in Louisiana.”
“Long distance never works,” he says, wrapping my statement in a bow.
“Precisely.”
“Hmm,” he hums, before bending down to look through the cabinets below.
The sound of pots and pans clanging beneath me brings my attention back to dinner.
I pick up the large bag of shredded Mexican cheese, taking a pinch and dropping it into my mouth.
A sound rings out from below like a sword being pulled from its sheath.
I lean forward just enough to peer over the edge.
Levi has in his lap a large cookie sheet that has seen better days.
It’s black, brown, and a little gold in the pits of its edges.
He’s about to stand up and I’m about to ask what we’re doing when he’s distracted by something else.
He places the sheet pan to the side of him and lightly brushes a finger up my exposed ankle.
He looks up, maybe for a nod of approval, but I’m too transfixed on him touching me.
He squares himself between my legs, both hands gliding up and down my calves.
It shouldn’t feel this good—I still have on my faux leather leggings—but it does.
I feel each press of his fingers. My skin is needy for his touch.
He squeezes at my knees, pulling himself up.
His forehead drops to mine, and I watch his hands drag up my inner thighs.
His facial muscles pinched in either pain or pleasure, maybe both.
At the halfway point, I’m forced to swallow, the action bringing me back into my body. I place soft hands over his to stop him, hating this part of the conversation. Will he look at me the same...or at all?
“What is it?” he softly asks.
“There’s more.” I take an exaggerated breath. “So, I’ve been on dates and stuff.” This makes him laugh. Not at me, but more like he already assumed that.
“Of course,” he finally says through a smile. At this angle I can swan dive into his eyes, and I just know there would be a splash because they’re so blue. So electric, so telling of everything he’s feeling. He’s happy. “Just tell me, Tate.”
“I’m kind of...waiting.”
“For...” His eyes narrow, confused.
“Marriage?”
His face seems to freeze over. I’m not even sure if he’s breathing anymore. And finally, “Like, you haven’t...”
“Nope. I want it to mean something when it happens.”
He nods, but I’m not sure he understands.
His thumb works circles on the side of my knees before looking up at me again.
I prepare myself for all the lame goodbyes I’ve heard after that kiss-of-death statement.
I prepare for him to board himself up in his room and only see him in passing, the Santa Monica Pier living in my head for eternity.
But then a soft smile stretches on his face.
“That’s really cool, Tate. I’m going to start the oven so we can eat, but I’m not walking away because of anything you said.”
Now it’s my turn for my heart to completely stop. Did he say that? And mean it? Cool? My celibacy is...cool. Once the oven is preset for 400, I watch as he starts layering the chips, beans, cheese.
“Nachos?” My voice is like the croak from a frog, but if he notices, he doesn’t say so.
“It’s not a steak dinner, but we don’t really have ingredients to make much.” It comes out like an apology, a wound I quickly Band-Aid.
“I love nachos. Thank you.”
“Hey, I was thinking,” he says, glancing up at me once, “would you want to eat and then sit in the jacuzzi for a bit? If you’ve had enough of me, I totally understand.”
“Jacuzzi sounds nice.”
He slides the loaded cookie sheet into the oven, forearms flexing like an aggressive wink. “This will be done in about ten minutes. I’m going to change quickly if you wanna do the same.”
***
The phone rings twice before Gabriella answers.
“You better have a good reason for calling me again.” The threat sounds like it’s being filtered through closed teeth.
“I know, I know, I know, but I neeeed another swimsuit and I didn’t know who else to call.” The string of words rushes from my mouth. No breaths. No breaks. My head drops into my palm, the weight of it all of a sudden too heavy to bear.
“I take it the conversation went well then...”
I walk over to the side of my bed and take a seat. My mouth works extra hard to conceal a big dopey smile. “It did. Better than I ever could have dreamed, which brings forth a whole new problem.”
“Meh, stay in the moment. Okay, if you go into my dresser in the closet, second drawer from the bottom, you will see all my suits. Help yourself, but I have to go. Call me in the morning.” She hangs up before I have time to whine for more direction, as in, specifically which suit.
I kneel before the dresser, pulling out the specified drawer only to find it stuffed to the brim with bathing suits of every shape and color.
A lot with tags still on them. She lives in Chicago.
..this feels extra. I pick up my phone to properly tease her when I notice she has already beat me to a text.
Gabriella: Wear the yellow one.
I don’t have to dig too far before I find it.
The top has a square neck with built-in underwire and cups, and no extra padding, whereas the bottoms are pretty modest, looking like they’ll cover most of my backside.
I thought the black one was pretty, but this?
This fabric is straight sunshine. I sit on the chaise to pull my leggings off, slipping on the bottoms, opting to pull them up and over the hip for the optical illusion that my legs are long.
The top is next. I stare at myself in really nothing but Levi’s shirt, loving how it feels.
I pull the neck up once more to inhale him, labeling the smell.
He’s pine and cedar and— There’s a knock. ..here?
“Levi?” I call, walking into the main room, but when the door opens it’s Jan.
“Nope! Sorry to disappoint.” She’s not sorry.
“When you’re done getting dressed, meet us in the kitchen so we can discuss what happened today.
” And just like that, she’s gone. Not another word.
Quickly, I run back to the closet, throw on the top and a tie-dyed sundress over the top of that.
When I get downstairs, Levi is sitting on a barstool in nothing but trunks, slumped over.