Chapter 12 #3
But before I could read the actual profile, I noticed the number of matches and messages. “You have, like, a thousand messages in here.”
“Do I?” He lifted one eyebrow and made a half-mouthed grimace. “I haven’t looked.”
“Did you message Camille back?”
“Why? Would that bother you?” He smiled, a little wickedly. “Make you jealous?”
“It would bother me for several reasons, but mostly because she is a bad person and you’re a good one. Thus, I would advise staying away.”
“Duly noted,” he said.
I read through his profile, which made me smile several times. He was charming even on paper. Or a phone screen, such as it was.
“Okay, cherry pie, coffee, sappy movies—”
I interrupted. “Happy endings. Not sappy.”
“Oh right, so you think there’s a difference?”
“We can debate that some other time. What else strikes you about my profile?”
For whatever reason, I didn’t want to admit how much we had in common, but it was plain as the sun currently dipping under the horizon.
“We have a few things in common. Sand in our toes. Thrillers. Art. Movies. Bold red wine.” I gestured toward him with my wine glass, which was nearly empty. He filled it without me asking.
“When I have a good book to read, I stay up until two in the morning reading too,” Dorian said. “Anyone who doesn’t is suspect.”
“I agree.”
He reached back into the basket and pulled out a paperback. “This just came in last week. Kept me up for three nights in a row. I brought it for you. Very twisty. You’ll love it.”
I took it from his outstretched hand. “That was nice of you.” It truly was. He was thoughtful, considerate. I could get used to this.
He grinned. “You haven’t mentioned the most important thing we have in common. No talking during movies.”
“God, I hate that.”
“I do too. It’s awful, when you’re in the zone and someone’s talking to you or commenting on the film. Zero tolerance.”
I laughed. “I’m with you. Okay, why separate bowls for the popcorn?”
“I don’t like other people’s hand in my popcorn,” Dorian said.
“Not even someone you know well? Or love?”
“It’s untested so far,” Dorian said. “But I’d be willing to try. With you.”
We exchanged a smile before he poured himself a little more wine.
“Do you think I’m scary?” I asked. “Annie says I am.”
“You’re utterly terrifying.”
I nudged him with my elbow. “I can’t believe you said that.”
“I’d have asked you out a year ago, but you’re intimidating,” Dorian said.
“I can’t help it.” I sipped some of the wine, rolling it over on my tongue.
“My mother told me more than once that no one would want to marry me because of my sharp tongue. This was rich, coming from her. The woman had a forked tongue, both sides as sharp as a dull knife. Which is the most painful kind.”
I had the urge to tell him more but I didn’t. My mother was a complicated subject, and we were having fun. I’d save that for another time. I glanced over at him to see that he was watching me, his eyes glittering in the last of the sunset light.
“What?” I asked. “Do I have something in my teeth.”
“No, not that I can see. I was just wondering how many dates before you let me kiss you?”
I let out a long breath. “Do you know how long it’s been? Sometimes I can’t even remember what it feels like.”
“I can remind you.”
“It seems big.”
“Too big?” Dorian asked.
“No. A little frightening, though.”
“You scared? Now that’s a twist.”
I sobered. “I’m scared all the time.”
“What of?” Dorian asked.
“Of being alone because of the way I am.”
“You want someone to grow old with?” Dorian asked.
“I shouldn’t, but I do.”
“Why shouldn’t you?”
“Because when you allow yourself to want something, and then it doesn’t happen, it’s worse than not wanting anything at all.”
“That’s really sad,” Dorian said.
“I know.”
We both gazed at the waves crashing gently to shore.
“It might be best to get it over with,” I said.
“What’s that?”
“The kiss,” I said, hardly believing those words were coming out of my mouth.
“I’ve had invitations that were a little more enthusiastic, but I’ll take it.”
“I’m just going to sit here, and you’re going to do it, okay?” I asked.
“I can do that.”
He made a big show by interlacing his fingers as if stretching for a big race. “You ready?”
Before I could answer, he was there, inches away, then closer, until finally his mouth touched mine. He kissed me, the fluttery kind that was more of a tickle than a kiss. I put my arms around his neck. “You’re going to have to do better than that. You can’t break me.”
He pulled me roughly to him, then kissed me hard, with a passion I didn’t know the calm, mild-mannered man possessed.
And as it turned out, kissing came right back to me. I never wanted to stop. Apparently seagulls had no sense of romance because just then several dive-bombed us, snatching crackers before flying away, screaming victory.
For whatever reason, that made us laugh—so hard we couldn’t stop. The kind that made my stomach hurt and my jaw ache.
I hadn’t laughed like that in a long, long time. It felt good. Maybe too good. But for now, I was just going to choose to let myself have this.