34. Liv
Chapter thirty-four
Liv
The knock comes while I am staring into the fridge, trying to find something to take to work for lunch.
I check the peephole.
Josh, standing in my hallway with both hands empty.
“Liv,” he says when I open the door.
He lifts both hands a few inches from his sides, like he knows exactly where my eyes have gone.
“Nothing.”
“You’re sure?”
His mouth moves. Almost a smile. “I checked.”
I open the door wider. “Come in.”
For half a second, he does not move. I reach for his hand. His fingers close around mine, and I pull him inside.
The door shuts behind him.
He scans the room once and spots his note near my coffee maker. His eyes come back to me.
“I want to say something,” he says.
“This sounds serious.”
“It was.”
“Was?”
“I had a plan.” He pauses. “It lasted until you opened the door.”
I lean back against the edge of the console table. “Time for plan B?”
He rubs one hand over the back of his neck, and drops it fast.
“I want what we had in the Iris bubble.”
The laugh gets out before I can stop it.
Josh closes his eyes. “That is a terrible phrase. See that’s why I had a plan.”
“Please continue.”
He points at me. “You’re laughing.”
“I am listening.”
“You are laughing and listening.”
“I can multitask.”
His shoulders drop a fraction, and that makes the smile harder to hide.
He takes one step farther into the living room.
“I don’t mean the emergency,” he says. “Or you sleeping in my guest room. Or the feeding logs taped to the fridge, though I will say the logs were impressive.”
I give him a look.
He gives it right back.
His face shifts, and the humor lowers into something quieter.
“I mean the small version,” he says. “You on the couch with your laptop. Me making coffee. Iris judging both of us. Your shoes by my door. Mine next to them.”
My hand tightens on the edge of the console table.
He sees it. He keeps going.
“I want to put my arm around you when you sit next to me.” His voice is not polished. It is too quick in places, too careful in others. “I want to come home from a terrible shift and have you hug me before I can pretend I’m fine.”
I do not move.
“When I make two cups of coffee with the right amount of oat milk,” he says, “I want to be able to walk across the hall and give you one because it makes you smile.”
I press my lips together.
“And maybe because I want you to kiss me.”
I fail.
I laugh again, softer this time, and his mouth tilts.
“That part was less dignified than I meant it to be.”
“But it was very clear.”
“Good.” He takes another breath.
“Because I want to know what you want. I want to figure out what we are now. Together."
He looks down at his empty hands.
“No coffee. No dry cleaning. No useful thing in my hands.”
I wait.
His face goes sheepish.
“That sentence also got away from me.”
“A little.”
“I should stop so you have a chance to talk.”
“Yes,” I say.
He stops.
I push off the console table and step toward him. His eyes track the movement, but he does not reach for me.
I put both hands on his chest.
His breathing changes once, then evens out.
“I know what I want.”
His eyes search mine.
“You do? Care to tell me?”
“Yes.”
I pull him down and kiss him.
Josh makes one sound against my mouth, low and startled, and then his arms come around me.
There he is.
My hands slide up his chest, over his shoulders, into his hair. His hand presses into my back, and I step closer because I can, because I want to. Because I have never wanted anything more.
His mouth slows over mine.
I do not let him go.
When we finally break apart, his forehead stays near mine. His hands stay on my back. Mine stay at his neck, where his pulse is not even trying to be calm.
“I have to go to work,” he says.
I lift my chin and kiss the corner of his mouth.
“That is a terrible follow-up.”
His hand shifts at my back, pulling me the last inch closer, and his mouth covers mine before I can smile.
“I know,” he says.
“Work on your transitions.”
“I will,” he says against my mouth.
This kiss lasts longer. His thumb presses once into the fabric at my waist, and my fingers tighten at the back of his neck before I remember he is supposed to be leaving.
He lifts his head first.
His mouth brushes mine once more. “After my shift tonight, I want to take you on a real date. Nice clothes, good food, candlelight.”
I pull back enough to look at him. “I thought you wanted the small version. Coffee and a couch.”
“I want that too.”
“Convenient.”
“I’m versatile.”
I laugh, and he kisses the corner of my mouth.
“Wear the emerald green dress,” he says.
My fingers still in his hair.
“What?”
“The one from your cousin’s wedding. The green one you kept smoothing down even though you already looked perfect.”
I stare at him.
He remembers that dress.
One night. Seven years ago. He had been late because of an emergency, walked in halfway through the salad course, and still looked at me like I was the only one in the room.
I shake my head. “You remember the dress?”
His thumb moves once at my back. “Liv.”
Just my name.
Like that should answer everything.
It does a decent job.
“I do remember the way you looked at me in that dress,” I smile.
He leans close, mouth near my ear. “Wear that.”
Then he kisses my temple.
My knees make one quiet attempt to resign. When he starts to step away, I catch the front of his shirt.
“Wait.”
He looks down at my hand. “Okay.”
“I have a demand too.”
His eyebrows lift.
“The blue cashmere sweater.”
His mouth curves. “Yes.”
He looks far too pleased.
I rise on my toes, close to his ear. “Wear that.”
His hand tightens once at my waist.
“Strong demand,” he says.
“I make excellent demands.”
“Yes,” he says. “You do.”
That should be too much.
It is not.
He kisses me once more before he goes. Shorter this time, but not safer.
***
The elevator doors open on our floor.
We do not notice right away.
This is because Josh has me backed gently against the side wall, one hand beside my shoulder and the other at my waist. It appears that Josh still approves of this emerald green dress. And both of my hands are curled in the blue cashmere sweater I was also right to demand.
Josh does not stop kissing me.
“Josh,” I say against his mouth.
“Hm.”
“This is our floor.”
He pulls back half an inch, looks over his shoulder, and sees the open doors.
“Right.”
Neither of us moves.
The elevator gives a warning beep.
“Very authoritative,” I say.
“It gets results.”
He takes my hand and steps out backward, pulling me with him.
Josh’s thumb is moving once over my knuckles, and I am still smiling from something he said downstairs about risotto, call schedules, and the fact that I apparently “cross-examined the dessert menu.”
We stop at my door.
Josh looks down the hall toward his apartment, before returning his gaze to my eyes.
“Living this close to you has been torture.”
I blink. “Excuse me?”
His eyes close. “That came out wrong.”
“Would you like a do-over?”
“I mean—” He laughs once and looks at the ceiling. “I mean it was hard knowing you were right here. That we were this close. That we had come this close.”
The smile drops from my mouth, but my hand stays in his.
He looks back at me.
I know what he means.
So I do not let him stand there with it alone.
“But now you’re close enough to bring me my coffee with oat milk tomorrow.”
His mouth softens.
“Is that why you want me to come over?”
“It’s one of the reasons.”
He steps closer. “You know you can just ask me to come over if you want to kiss me.”
I look at him.
Empty hands.
Blue sweater.
Six steps.
“I know.”
Then I pull him down.
His mouth is still curved when it reaches mine, and my hand tightens at the back of his neck.
I kiss him like I mean to be clear.
I kiss him until his hand leaves the doorframe and settles at my waist and there is no chance he can mistake this for anything except want.