Candlelight & Confessions #2
Linda continues. “Now...I can’t guarantee results. And by staying, you agree this is legally binding. You can’t sue me.”
My brow shoots up. “Charming.”
She points to an ancient-looking camera propped in the corner. “And you consent to being recorded.”
Christ. This just keeps getting better.
The reading…insight begins. Linda starts tossing out vague statements: Someone from your past is trying to reach you. You’ve recently experienced a big life change. Someone new is entering your orbit.
It’s generic, but somehow we’re both laughing. Because, honestly, it could apply to anyone in Vegas tonight.
Then everything shifts.
One second we’re chuckling under our breath at the vague, fortune-cookie nonsense she’s been spouting. The next—dead silence.
Linda’s head tilts, her eyes narrowing, gaze locking on me like she’s just tuned into a different frequency. Like she’s hearing something no one else in this van can.
I feel Eslin still beside me, sense the air thicken between us.
Linda blinks slowly, then leans forward, voice low, still gravel rough. “You think you ’bout done? Waiting?”
The words slam into me like a gut punch.
Jesus.
I freeze.
It’s what my Maddy, my wife, used to say.
Every time we were out on the boat, just the two of us.
I’d want to stay out there all damn day, chasing one more cast, waiting for one more fish.
And when she was ready to head back—without fail—she’d glance at me, a smile in her voice, and say, You think you ’bout done?
Her way of telling me I had about fifteen minutes before her patience wore thin.
No one else knew that. No one.
For a beat, I can’t move, can’t breathe. The weight of it slams straight into my chest, knocking the air right out of me.
Eslin’s watching me. I can feel her gaze on me—steady, curious, concerned.
She knows something shifted. But she doesn’t press, doesn’t speak. Just sits there, tense and quiet, reading me. Or at least trying to.
Before I can even gather myself, Linda’s head tilts again. That eerie calm settling over her features as she turns toward Eslin. Her voice drops again. This time, it’s as if she’s connecting with something deep inside of Eslin.
“Some people,” Linda starts, her voice almost as if she’s getting emotional. “Some people stay, my child.”
Eslin stiffens beside me. I feel it, sharp as a blade. Her hand tenses slightly against her thigh. The lightness from moments ago? Gone.
Neither of us laughs now.
We just sit there, caught in a stretch of silence that feels heavier than the walls around us. Both of us processing what the hell just happened—what was said, what it meant.
I don’t know what those words meant to her. And she sure as hell doesn’t know what they meant to me.
But somehow, without saying a word, we both know—Linda hit something. Something personal. Something meant for each of us, and only us.
And that unspoken truth hums in the air between us, thick and impossible to ignore.
When we finally step out of that van, the air outside hits like a slap—breeze sharp, the lights too bright, too loud. But none of it cuts through the weight hanging between us.
We walk a block in silence, our steps falling in sync, like it’s been decided without a word.
Then, finally, Eslin exhales, her voice soft. “That was…interesting.”
I snap my gaze to her. “I know, right?”
A slow smile ghosts across her lips. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours…” she says, playful, like we’re two kids hiding under the bleachers.
I stop abruptly. A couple behind us stumbles, forced to break apart and shuffle around. I don’t move. Just turn and look her straight in the eyes.
“You’re asking me to share what those words meant?”
She lifts a shoulder, casual, but her gaze is anything but. “The way I see it, we’ll probably never see each other again. Two strangers who shared one crazy, wild night. Who got to know something real about one another. Something deep. No strings.”
I swallow. “And we’re just supposed to...what...walk away? After a night like this? After sharing something so…intimate?”
She tilts her head, her smile softening. “What happens in Vegas…” She leaves it hanging in the air. No need to finish. We both know.
What happens tonight—whatever we decide to do—stays here.
And the player in me, the man who’s built a lifetime on these kind of one perfect night moments, should be all in. No consequences. No morning-after regrets. Just one night with this incredible woman, and then done.
Usually, I wouldn’t think twice.
But looking at her now... I don’t want it cheap. She’s not cheap. You can tell from a mile away.
So if this is all we get—one night—I’ll give her the truth. Me. Every raw, unpolished part of it. And then I’ll walk away.
What happens in Vegas, right?
I take her hand again, threading my fingers through hers. No words. Just us again.
And we start walking.
I’ve always been bold when it comes to women. I don’t play childish games. No fishing with imaginary bait, waiting to see if they’ll bite. I ask. Once. And if I’m given consent, granted access, then I take it the rest of the way. No hesitation. No apologies.
And tonight?
All I want...is to know Eslin.
Not her body. Not first.
Just her. The woman behind those eyes, behind that laugh. The woman who’s already under my skin and doesn’t even know it yet.
The Strip blazes behind us—neon signs pulsing, music thumping, the chaotic heartbeat of a city that never sleeps. But the farther we walk, the thinner the crowds become. The lights grow softer, more scattered.
The night shifts. The city that never tires...starts to feel like it’s winding down. Like it’s giving us this space, this moment, just for us. And walking deeper into the quiet, it’s as if the whole city knows—some things deserve to be heard in the dark.
“I grew up in foster care. New York City,” Eslin begins, her voice steady, but there’s something behind it. I squeeze her hand.
“Don’t do that, Grant.”
Her words make me jump. “What?”
“Don’t pity me. Don’t start looking at me like I’m—”
I cut her off by leaning down and brushing a kiss against her cheek. Soft. Intentional.
“You’re fierce. A force. I wouldn’t dare see you as anything less.”
She smiles, slow and a little breathless, her gaze locking on mine. I can see it—the way her breath is caught somewhere between her chest and her libido.
And even though it’s clear I’ve knocked her off her game a bit, her hand stays in mine as we keep walking.
“I’m suddenly unsure of what I was—”
“You were telling me about the upbringing that made you a woman I’m ready to change my entire life for after only a few minutes in her space,” I confirm. Because I, one hundred percent, mean it.
She lets out a soft, musical laugh, shaking her head. “Okay. Charmer. Keep it up and whatever happens here will follow us home...”
“Which is where?” I press, voice low, teasing.
She smirks. “Not yet. I want to stretch this out a bit. I don’t know if I trust you to know where I live.”
I chuckle. “You were about to share some pretty heavy stuff, miss. I think we need to pause and reevaluate your definition of trust.”
“That’s different,” she says, with a playful protest.
“How so?”
She lifts a shoulder, the motion graceful and unhurried. “We made a pact. It’s sort of an adventure for us.”
My brow instantly shoots up. “A pact, huh?” I echo, intrigued.
“Yes. Try to keep up,” she teases, and Christ—I bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from dragging her into the nearest alley and tasting every inch of that fire she’s been tempting me with all night.
I bet she tastes like black berries and molasses.
“And, if I’m honest—” She continues.
“Please be honest. This is a safe space,” I say, voice sweet.
She glances over, something vulnerable flickering in those eyes. “To share these secrets with you and then walk away, knowing we shared this night and these stories, and then never seeing each other again? It’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever experienced.”
I rub my thumb across the top of her hand, voice dropping. “And to think, the night isn’t over yet.”
“It’s only just beginning.”
We stop in front of a 1950s-style ice cream shop—chrome-trimmed windows, glowing neon sign. The kind with a wraparound red leather bar, polished silver stools lined up perfectly. A relic in a city that keeps reinventing itself.
“Wanna share a banana split with me?” I ask, grinning.
She beams. “I thought you’d never ask.”
We step inside, the place humming with old jukebox tunes and the soft clink of silverware.
At the counter, I let her order. I’m expecting the usual—nuts, whipped cream, maybe a cherry.
But Eslin? No. She starts rattling off toppings like a sugar-fueled mad scientist—gummy bears, crushed cereal, rainbow sprinkles, bits of candy I’ve never even heard of.
I blink at her, stunned. Who the hell is this woman?
And why am I tempted to spend the rest of my life discovering everything about her?
We settle onto the stools, splitting the monstrosity she’s created, and I can’t resist.
“So... those words. What did they mean to you?”
She takes a slow breath, eyes thoughtful.
“My mom lost custody when I was a baby,” she says quietly. “I grew up in foster care. We didn’t have much. But she loved me. She never stopped trying to make our family whole again.”
I take a bite of ice cream to avoid the inevitable softening on my face that she will interpret as pity. Which is the furthest thing I feel for her. The exact opposite.
“When I was five, she lost track of me in the system. But I never stopped hoping she’d find me. And from what I remembered about her, something inside me knew she didn’t stop looking.”
I stay quiet, listening.
“She finally did. When I was graduating college.” Her voice softens, the weight of it clear. “We became best friends after that. More like sisters than mother and daughter.”