Chapter 27 Monique
What was he doing here? How was he here?
At the first step he took toward her, all the questions she had dissolved. Monique didn’t really care about the logistics of it all as she breathed him in, the space against his heart that drummed so hard and fast and matching her own.
All day, she’d been moving. Moving through the cold, through the service, through self-control. She was tired and didn’t want to move anymore.
She pressed her face farther into his coat.
Maurice didn’t say anything. He didn’t try to make it better. He just kept his arms around her and let her take what she needed.
His coat was still cold from outside. The fabric scratched against her cheek.
She welcomed the sensation because underneath was the warmth of him.
Woodsy and citrusy. His heartbeat was so fast—she hadn’t expected that.
He always looked so measured, so steady, on the outside.
But against her cheek, his heart was running.
He was here. An answer to a wish she hadn’t dared speak aloud. A dream she was angry to wake from.
“Is this real?” She tried to breathe deep, to catch her footing, but she was floating.
Adrift in this fantasy that someone—and not just anyone—but he had come to see after her.
Even after she’d gone silent. After she’d let the calls and texts go unanswered.
After she’d told herself it was better this way.
He came anyway.
Strong arms increased their hold on her as if they knew she would vanish at the slightest shift in the wind. “Let’s get your coat,” Maurice said, leading her to the rack near the elevators that held more than a dozen jackets. “Do you want to say goodbye first?”
She grunted a no and remained tucked under his arm, even as he sorted through the parkas with one hand. Opening her eyes meant real life awaited her. Monique wasn’t ready for any of that. She was content to huff his scent, listen to the gentle rumble of his voice, and never open her eyes.
“Which is yours? Sweetheart, you can’t go out without a coat.”
“Let’s just go. Please.”
Her voice was muffled by the layers he wore, but somehow, he heard. They shuffled toward the elevators, her coat abandoned.
Once the doors closed, she braved opening her eyes.
The mirrored walls gave her the shot she hadn’t known she wanted.
Him covering her. His head resting on hers, eyes closed, mouth contented, smooth brown skin shimmering like glazed pottery against his black dress shirt.
Her small against him but not dwarfed, face wrecked but not caring.
She would have taken this picture hundreds of times but never thought that she’d want to be in it.
He was a dream that she hadn’t dared to transcribe. How could she have ever imagined this kind of love? She hadn’t even seen this on TV.
“How are you here?” she asked again, causing his eyes to flutter open.
“How?” Their eyes met in the mirror, the insecurity there twinning her own. “I took an airplane, rented a car, and booked a hotel room. Then I drove over here after missing you at the synagogue.” He popped his eyebrows in that obviously sort of way. “Figured you might need a ride home.”
Monique sucked her teeth. “Okay, Mister Literal.” Fighting her smile at how deftly he redirected her anxiety, she tried to push off him.
“What? I answered your question.” He pulled her close again, turning her around and tucking her under one arm as he worked his way out of his coat and put it on her.
“You know what I mean.” Being so close, enveloped by him, his breath warm against her face made her lightheaded in a way that had nothing to do with illness.
He turned her around to face him. “And you should already know why I’m here.” He zipped the coat she nearly swam in up to her chin and turned up the collar. His hands and eyes fixed on her face.
“I really wanna kiss you,” he said as the elevator doors opened to the lower-level garage, and his hands fell away.
For probably the first time in her life, Monique wanted to be kissed.