39. Liv
Chapter thirty-nine
Liv
The note is on the balcony table.
White guest house stationery. Josh’s handwriting. My name at the top.
Liv,
I love you.
Went for coffee.
An arrow points right.
I pick up the note and turn it over.
There is more on the back.
Bringing you coffee still gets me a kiss, right?
I laugh before I can stop it.
It’s the only sound on the quiet balcony with yellow walls behind me, red flowers spilling from the railing next door, and sunlight already warming the old iron under my hand.
I keep the note in my hand and step closer to the railing.
The street below is still waking up. A shopkeeper lifts a metal grate. Someone rinses the sidewalk in front of a café. A woman in a blue dress unlocks a door across the street and leans out to shake a mat over the stone.
I close my eyes.
The sun warms my face.
We stood at this railing after dinner, his arms around me from behind, my hands over his, the iron still holding the day’s heat under my palms. Josh rested his chin near my temple and pointed at a star whose name he had absolutely made up.
“You made that name up,” I said.
“I did.”
Then he spoke softly into my ear. “It’s our star.”
When I turned in his arms to look at him, he kissed me.
I thought loving Josh this much would feel too big to keep still.
This morning, still is exactly right.
The gate between our balconies is open.
My door is open.
His is open.
Nothing between us but two chairs, one small table, and a note asking for a kiss like he does not already know the answer.
“Hey, beautiful.”
I open my eyes.
Josh is at the balcony gate with two coffees in one hand and his sleeves pushed to his forearms, looking so pleased with himself and so completely mine that I forget the first word of the sentence I meant to say.
I manage, “Hi.”
He steps through the gate.
“Bakery was open,” he says, holding out my coffee.
I take the cup.
“I love you.”
We both stop, then I laugh.
“I would still love you without the coffee.”
Josh looks at the cup in my hand. Then at me.
He takes the coffee back before I can ask why, sets both cups on the balcony table, and catches me by the waist.
“Josh—”
His hands settle at my waist.
He turns me in one smooth motion, just enough to make me catch his shoulder.
I gasp.
He smiles.
“Good,” he says again.
Then his mouth is on mine.
The coffee waits on the table.
Somewhere, a shopkeeper calls to someone across the stones. A scooter passes. A door shuts. The city begins its day.
Josh kisses me until my hand slides into his hair and his arm tightens at my back.
Then he slows.
He slows because we have time.
When he lifts his head, his forehead stays near mine.
“Coffee,” he says.
“It’s getting cold.”
“I know.”
Neither of us moves.
Across the balcony, the gate between our rooms stands open.