Chapter 21 #3
“Is that your husband?” the woman asked. She gave back the phone, and Sophie looked at the photograph before answering.
“Yes,” she said. The woman asked whether he worked at the museum too, and Sophie explained about his business. By the time she finished, somebody was asking how they’d met, and she told them about the fundraiser and the paper plate.
Jesse called while she was walking back to the hotel.
He’d burned the rice and wanted to know whether the pan was worth saving, and she told him to put water in it and leave it until morning.
Upstairs she lay across the bed while he described a job he’d finished that afternoon.
She asked another question when he offered to let her sleep, and he stayed on the phone until she began yawning.
He met her at the station. Sophie walked straight into his arms with the suitcase still in her hand, and he kissed her long enough that someone had to step around them. She let him take the case afterward and talked all the way to the car.
That evening, while they folded laundry, Sophie took his clean shirts into their bedroom. She hung the first one beside her dresses, moved it because the hanger caught on a sleeve, and made room for the rest. Jesse appeared in the doorway with a towel in his hands.
“In here,” she said. She took the last shirt from the pile on the bed. “I’d like them in here.”
He put the towel on the chair. She could hear him breathe as she fastened the last shirt’s top button, then turned.
“And you,” she said. She let go of the handle. “I don’t want to spend another night listening for you in the other room.”
He came to her, stopping close enough that she had to lift her chin. His shirt smelled of clean cotton and the soap he used at the workshop, and she put her hands on his waist before he bent to kiss her.
She’d imagined being frightened. Instead she was impatient with the bag beside the bed, the towel sliding off the chair, the small space between them while he tried to decide where to put his hands. She caught one and brought it to her back.
“Kiss me,” she said. She pulled him closer by the open collar. “I’ve been thinking about this on the train for three hours.”
He smiled against her mouth, then kissed her until the smile went. Sophie pressed against him, feeling his hand spread across her back through the thin fabric, and let the wardrobe door swing shut beside them.
The bed caught her behind the knees. She sat and drew him down with her, her hands at his shoulders while he kissed her again. The towel fell from the chair when he reached past her to turn on the bedside lamp.
“Leave it,” Sophie said when he glanced toward the floor. She caught the front of his shirt. “Jesse. Come here.”
He put a knee on the mattress, smiling against her mouth, and she moved her hands beneath his open collar.
He kissed the side of her neck, slowly enough that she felt each touch after his mouth moved on. Sophie closed her eyes and found the buttons on his shirt by feel, undoing one badly and having to start again. When she opened her eyes, he was watching her hands.
“What?” she asked. She pushed the shirt from one shoulder. “You’ve seen me lose a fight with a button before.”
“You’re rushing.” He touched the button she’d missed near his throat. “You’ll have me stuck like this.”
Sophie undid it and pushed the shirt from his shoulders. He caught her wrists briefly, kissed the inside of one, then let her put her hands on him again.
His skin was warm beneath her palms. She put her mouth against his chest, heard his breath catch, and felt his fingers tighten briefly in her hair before he smoothed it away from her face.
She lifted her arms when he reached for the hem of her sweater. He drew it over her head and dropped it beside them, then kissed her bare shoulder with a tenderness that made her turn into him and hold him hard.
“Come here,” she said. She moved farther onto the bed and pulled him with her. “Closer than that.”
He followed, bracing himself above her while she touched his face. She could see the strain in his arms, the way he was holding back his weight, and she slid her leg around his until he came down against her.
She kissed him harder. His hand moved from her waist to her hip, and she arched into his touch with a sound she hadn’t meant to make.
He pressed his mouth against her throat. Sophie held him there, fingers tangled in his hair, while he took his time undressing her; when she reached past him to turn off the bright lamp, she left the light by the wardrobe burning.
Later she woke with her cheek against his shoulder and one leg tangled in his. He was asleep, his hand loose against her waist, and she lay still until he stirred.
“Did I wake you?” she whispered, brushing the hair from his forehead.
“No,” he said sleepily. He pulled her closer, then opened his eyes enough to see her smile. “Probably. I don’t care.”
She settled against him. He reached past her to turn off the remaining light, then drew her back into his arms when she complained about the cold air he’d let beneath the covers.