13. Chapter 13 #3
He’s silent for a few seconds, our footsteps scuffing quietly against the sidewalk. I wait patiently because I really want his answer.
“I don’t know,” he finally says. “I don’t like sitting around, and you have a lot on your plate.”
I snort out a laugh. “That’s very true.”
I want to say thank you. It’s on the tip of my tongue. But I’ve said it so many times, it almost feels hollow. Even if I really and truly mean it.
As we approach the inn, I have a different idea.
“Want to see the Ridge?” I ask Dean.
“Right now?”
“Yeah. The view will be fantastic.” I pull my car keys from my coat pocket. “Come on.”
My old Honda Accord is parked next to Dean’s much prettier car. I unlock the doors and point toward the passenger side.
“Get in.”
That was very forward of me. I’m not sure what’s gotten into me tonight. Maybe there still is some adrenaline pumping through me.
Dean doesn’t seem to mind. “Okay,” he says.
We climb inside, and I carefully back out of the spot, making sure to leave plenty of room between my car and his.
It doesn’t take long to get there, and with no one else around, I back into the best spot.
“Let’s go,” I say, pulling the keys from the ignition.
I get out, walk around to the back of the car, and hop onto the trunk, my legs dangling over the edge. Then I pat the spot beside me.
Dean climbs up next to me.
“What do you think?” I ask, a hand gesturing toward the view.
From up here, Autumn Ridge looks like a tiny Christmas village someone forgot to put snow on.
The moon is high and bright, turning the hills silver, while Main Street glows below us in little pools of yellow light.
I can make out the shape of the inn, the church steeple, and a few storefronts, but everything else fades into trees and darkness.
It’s quiet enough that the whole town looks asleep.
“It’s beautiful,” he says.
“Right? I used to come up here a lot when I was younger. Just to think.”
“And sometimes make out with boys?”
I feel my cheeks heat. “No!” I say emphatically.
He chuckles. “That was a very serious ‘no.’”
“Okay, yes, I did do some of that. But that’s not why I brought you here. I wanted to show you the view.”
This was a terrible idea. I feel very stupid right now.
“Bummer,” he says, and my head swivels toward him. He’s looking out, but I can see that smolder even in the dim lighting.
Did he say bummer? Why does my body suddenly feel heavy and my heart feel like it’s going to beat out of my chest?
Slowly his gaze turns to mine. I don’t think I realized how close we were sitting on the back of my car until right now.
“Well, you have a boy up here now,” he says.
“That’s true,” I say.
“You said you could kiss me,” he says, his voice low and gravelly.
“I did?” I ask, confused.
“This morning, remember?”
I smile. “That was just a saying. I didn’t mean it.”
Why did I say that? I may not have meant it then, but I do mean it now. I really mean it now.
“Really?” He reaches up and tucks some hair behind my ear, and my mouth goes dry.
“No,” I say, the word coming out breathy, almost a whisper.
“If you meant it, tell me how you like to be kissed,” Dean says, leaning toward me. I do the same.
“What do you mean?”
His eyes, which had dipped down to my lips, move back up to mine. “I don’t want to get it wrong.”
“Oh,” I say. I can’t tell for sure, but I think I might have stopped breathing.
His palm comes up to my cheek, resting lightly there. “Tell me how you like to be kissed, Rosie.”
I don’t even know how to answer. No one has ever asked me that before.
“I—” I start, then stop when his thumb begins tracing slowly over my cheek.
He’s quiet, watching me. Patiently waiting.
How do I like to be kissed? I’m not sure. I can say how I don’t like to be kissed. Too fast. Too much. Like the man has already decided how it’s going to happen and my only job is to keep up.
That’s not what’s happening here.
“I like it when it’s soft at first,” I finally tell him.
He leans in and ever-so-lightly brushes his lips against mine.
I think I might melt from the contact, as slight as it was.
“Like that?” he asks.
“Yes,” I say, and wait for him to do it again.
He doesn’t. He’s waiting.
“But maybe a little more this time,” I say.
His lips touch mine again. More pressure this time, but still gentle.
“Better?” he asks when he pulls away.
“Mm-hmm,” I say, but the sound barely escapes my mouth.
We’re sitting on the back of my car, his hand against my face, his mouth barely an inch from mine, and all I can think is more. I want more.
So I tell him. Just one word: “More.”
That’s all the permission he needs. His hand slides to the back of my neck and draws me in, the short hair of his beard brushing my skin as he pulls me into a kiss that’s still gentle but no longer careful.
My hands find his jacket, grabbing on for dear life as Dean deepens the kiss, his fingers tangling in the hair at my nape.
It’s the best kiss I’ve ever had, the kind that feels like he’s giving as much as he’s taking.
Somewhere below us the town is asleep, my garage is empty, and there are tables coming at eight in the morning.
And all I want right now is this.