Chapter 7 #2
“Why?” I hold it protectively to my chest, eyebrow arched.
He reaches out his hand across the table. “Just trust me.”
I eye him suspiciously, even though I trust this man with my entire life. His eyes hold mine, conveying the words, You can trust me. So I set my phone down in his palm and blink the words, I do.
“Passcode?”
“No—”
“Never mind.” He turns the phone and it promptly unlocks after scanning my face. I gape at his slick move while his thumbs move over the screen, searching for whatever it is he wants. “Come here.”
“Why?”
“Natalia,” he says softly, and I crack each of my fingers with my thumb.
“What?” I barely say.
“Come here,” he says again, just as tenderly as before.
I comply with an overly dramatic sigh, standing from my chair and moving over to his side. “What?”
His hand comes to my hip, the touch soft and light. “Take a picture with me.”
“For what?”
“To send to your dads.”
“But—”
“Sit here,” he says and looks down at his lap, then back to me. “If you want to.”
My body heats. “If I want to?”
“Only if you want to, Natalia.”
And even though it feels like a test—like if you want is more like, if you want to be loved by me—I slide across on his lap anyway, feeling flutters in my stomach as his arm comes around my waist. This is so close, maybe too close.
It’s overly intimate but I don’t think there’s anything this could be other than intimate anymore.
Rowan holds up my phone and says, “Smile.”
I don’t, but his lips press hard against my cheek as the phone snaps our picture. His lips linger, soft and tender, and he leaves a small, quiet kiss before he redirects his attention to the device in his hand.
He may have taken advantage of the moment, but I am not one to talk, sitting comfortably across his lap.
“Do you think it’s cute?” Rowan asks, angling the screen toward me.
He’s kissing my cheek with an obvious smile behind his puckered lips, and my face is stern and grumpy. I think it’s my new favorite photo.
“It’s fine.” I love it.
“I like it,” he says, smiling at the screen. The first thing he does is send it to my dads in our group chat.
“What are you doing?”
“Showing your dads that we’re okay.”
A text comes in immediately.
Daddy: Very cute sweetie
Dad: Tell him we say hello.
“They love me,” Rowan says, a bit too arrogantly. His hand taps my hip once, his eyes still on my screen, and I realize I’m still seated on his lap.
I make no move to remove myself. “They tolerate you.”
“They love me,” he says again.
“You’re so annoying,” I mumble, and it only earns me a soft chuckle.
“By the way,” he says with a cocky smirk, “I know your passcode is your birthday backwards.”
“It is not.”
Rowan arches a brow and locks my phone. He taps the screen then types in my passcode.
2202.
My phone unlocks. I don’t know why I’m surprised.
“See,” he gloats. “February twenty-second.”
“You’re ugly,” I grumble, snatching my phone back from him and moving back to my own seat.
“Yeah, I know.” He sighs but he’s half smiling.
My thumb opens the photo again and I hold back the little smile banging against my lips to be let out. My finger moves quickly and before I know it, I’ve set it as his contact photo.
“More ketchup?” Rowan asks, holding out another little plastic cup filled with the sauce.
“Obviously,” I say, and steal it from him for my mozzarella sticks. “It’s the best condiment.”
Rowan grins. “Obviously.”
“Thank you,” I mumble.
He keeps his smile, a warm white one that settles me just enough to feel comfortable here with him. To feel okay with the layer of vulnerability that he somehow has the ability to expose. It sounds weird, but Rowan makes me feel like an onion.
“Still don’t want to talk about it?”
I shake my head and bite into the cheesy appetizer, a long string stretching from my lips to the stick. “No.”
“Okay.”
Rowan is a safe space, I realize. If I don’t want to talk, he doesn’t make me. Rowan will allow me to sit in silence and do it with me. He’s who will stay by my side, ready to reach out his hand at any moment.
If I fall off the cliff, he’ll grab my arm and pull me back up.
If I fall off the dock, he’ll keep me from drowning.
But he doesn’t tell me, Don’t get too close; you don’t know how to swim.
He allows me the space to be, he’s kind of like a guardian angel that lets lessons be learned before they save you.
And I want to be that for him too, I just don’t know how.
“What are you thinking about?” Rowan asks, sprinkling salt over the fries.
“Too many things,” I murmur.
I bring my eyes to his, soft and blue and bright, warm and loving as he says, “Trade you a secret?”
I manage to sniff a laugh as I reach for a fry. “You first.”
“One time, I stole a classmate’s markers in the second grade.”
My expression is serious, assessing his playful look. “That’s not a secret.”
“Yes it is. I’ve never told anyone that,” he says, chuckling. “The guilt has been eating me alive for twenty years.”
I guffaw, reaching for more fries. “Wow. Cleared your conscience now?”
He grins. “Sure. Now you.”
“Fine.” I dust the salt and crumbs off my fingers.
“When I was eleven, I figured out Santa was a myth. My dads thought I still believed so I set out cookies and milk anyway. I knew that they ate and drank it after I went to bed, so I purposely stayed up all night until they were too exhausted to stay awake. Then I drank the milk and ate the cookies myself to trick them.”
Rowan laughs. “Did it work?”
“They were pretty tripped out for a minute on Christmas morning when it was gone. I played the part though. I gasped and pretended I was stunned so…”
Rowan continues laughing. “That’s the best thing I’ve ever heard.”
“My cousins thought so too,” I say proudly. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Christmas.”
He grimaces ever so slightly—a flash of a grimace. “I don’t really celebrate it unless it’s with all of you.”
“Is it…Is it because…” I bite my lip to keep myself quiet.
“After she died…” His pause pains me, bringing on an onslaught of emotions I’m not ready for that mix with ones I’ve been feeling all day.
“After she died, we were all kind of zombies for a while. We stopped going to the farm for real Christmas trees and bought a plastic one from Target instead. Dad was a ghost, so it was me and Andrew who decorated alone. After a while…I don’t know.
After a while, it began to feel pointless to the two of us.
Nowm I just put a tiny, pre-decorated tree up by my TV. ”
“Rowan,” I breathe and reach for his hand, setting mine over his.
“I swear, it isn’t as sad as it sounds.” He chuckles, the sound like a crack in his heart. “The tree is more for her than it is for me. Sometimes I put out a little white candle and picture of us next to it.”
My heart is sore for him. I wish I could pluck out all of his sadness and heartbreak. “I’m sure she loves that when she comes to visit you,” I rasp.
Rowan smiles feebly. “I hope she does.”
“I’m sorry it hurts.”
“Don’t be,” he says. “Grief is a good thing to feel.”
“Is it though?”
“Yes, it is. It just means everything was real—that I loved my mother with my life and she loved me enough for me to feel this. I was always a mama’s boy.”
“I know.” I giggle quietly.
“Grief is love,” Rowan says. “That’s all it is.”
The corner of my lips twitches as it lifts. “I suppose you’re right.”
“I usually am.” He gives me a devilish smirk.
“Usually not,” I disagree with a smile that turns his smirk into one too. His smile lingers, white straight teeth on display to show whatever happiness he might be feeling. And despite my sore heart, it warms at the thought it’s on his face because of me.
It’s my small smile that falls first, slowly, his eyes boring into mine like a tsunami. His fades next, but whatever glint is in his eyes—one that looks just shy of adoration, doesn’t.
“We’ve finished the appetizers,” he rasps.
“You didn’t bring more mozzarella sticks?”
He huffs a laugh and runs his hands through his hair, his forearms flexing just enough. “I’m sorry.”
I sigh dramatically. “It’s fine. Can I have my food now?”
Rowan smiles again as he sets out our main courses, and I can’t help but to smile too—my bad day taking a turn.