Chapter 22 Coco #2
He whistles as he spins it over to the back. “This is original. Holy shit, I tried to get this. Maybe. I think. I wanted this. Yes, I did! I wanted it, and for some reason I didn’t get it. Come on.”
“Want to play it?”
His jaw twitches as if he’s mulling it over. “No. I want something else.”
He slides the album back onto the wall and scans more titles until he finds another. “We’ll put this on.”
“What is it?”
He winks. “A surprise.”
My insides flutter as he handles the record like it’s more precious than Hercules. He slides the vinyl out from the cover and gently places it atop the turntable, and with precision, he lowers the needle to the surface.
The sound is scratchy, but when the trumpet begins, my insides immediately melt. “‘La Vie en Rose.’”
“Nothing says jazz like Louis Armstrong,” Stone agrees.
He has quite possibly picked the most romantic song on the entire wall, and my brain screams, This is dangerous. I need to shut the moment down, pull the record from the player, and find something else to listen to—Charles Mingus, for instance.
Stone extends his hand. “Dance with me?”
Heat pours over my body, spilling down my hands and feet. “To this?”
“Humor an amnesiac who’s holding his life together with rope and a lambicorn.”
A throb of guilt hits me. “Do you really feel that way?”
He gives me his best puppy-dog eyes. “If you dance with me, you’ll find out.”
“You, sir, drive a hard bargain.”
“And you, madam, aren’t driving at all.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I have no idea. It just came out. Dance. Please. Humor me.”
“Okay.”
I slide my hand over his and experience an entire line of small explosions dancing across my flesh and up my arm as he pulls me to him.
I keep a good two feet of distance between us.
“You’re supposed to relax,” he murmurs.
“I’m relaxed.”
“Okay, sure. Listen, if I can relax and I can’t even remember two weeks ago, then you can relax.”
Guilt drills into me. “I’m so sorry about your memory.”
“It’s not your fault,” he says, which feels like I’ve been punched in the throat. “Besides, I’m not sorry.”
Wait. “What?”
He hitches one shoulder to his ear. “I’m not.”
“Why?”
“In a second.” Stone cocks his chin, and I expect him to say something about his amnesia. But what comes out is completely different. “You never wear your hair down.”
Talk about conversation whiplash. “Yes, I do.”
“Not often.” His gaze scours my face, questioning, wondering. “Will you let it down?”
“Um . . .”
“Please?”
And it’s the please that gets me.
“Okay.”
I don’t wear my hair down often. I guess it’s like armor. If I keep it up, I stay safe. But it’s just the two of us, and there’s nothing to be afraid of with him. His presence grounds me.
So I grab hold of the band. But stop. I’m struck by how intimate this feels—the closeness of him, the way he quietly studies me. He’s looking at me as if I’m a star in the night sky, shining only for him.
And that’s what propels me forward.
My hand slowly works to pull out the band, and I let my hair cascade over my shoulders.
Stone’s eyes flare with surprise, like he’s been hit with a baseball, and I realize I’ve been hit, too, but by something different—pride and panic.
The panic burns hot and quick, but then peters out, leaving pride that lingers.
And then that same pride is reflected in his eyes. He reaches out slowly, and with a gentleness that sends shivers dancing across my skin, he pulls my hair over one shoulder.
“You’re so beautiful.”
My cheeks heat. “Stop it.”
“I will not stop it, because it’s true. You are. So beautiful. And . . .”
“What?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “Just . . . something. Like I’ve seen this before.”
He stares at my face, my hair. There’s a look in his eyes—I’ve never had someone look at me like this, as if I’m the answer to a question they didn’t ask.
A blush forms on my cheeks and I look away.
“You are so beautiful, Coco.”
I look up and his eyes smolder. “Thank you.”
“I mean it, you really are—inside and out.”
We’re studying one another, and it feels like I’m the target now, the center of the bull’s-eye. I clear my throat, hoping to put distance between us and this conversation.
“Tell me about your memory.”
He tips his head back. “I’ll only tell you if you dance with me like you actually want to. You’re miles away.”
“No, I’m not.”
He motions at the distance between us.
“Fine.”
I take a hesitant step into him. His hand tightens around my waist, holding me close, and his body warms every inch of me.
“So much better.” Stone squeezes my hand before he adds, “Have you ever thought maybe who you are now is who you’re supposed to be and the past doesn’t matter?”
“No, I never have.”
He pulls back and frowns. “Why not?”
“Maybe I don’t understand the question.”
I look down and he hooks a finger under my chin and tips my face up until our gazes lock. “You understand exactly what I’m saying. You’re faced with the past here, every time you visit.”
That truth strikes a tightly wound cord in me. I’m reminded of the pecking order whenever I talk to my parents or see my sister. And Stone understands.
He sighs. “Something was taken away from me—something very important, by someone I care about.”
“You were betrayed?”
He nods, tugging me closer, and I let him. Our bodies are only inches apart, and when I look up, his lips are right in my trajectory.
“Betrayed by someone I love,” he confirms, spinning me out and pulling me in so that I knock into him. His body is solid and warm, perfect for cozying up to. “I get the feeling betrayal seeded inside of me.”
“‘Seeded’?”
“You know, like it was planting a garden of rage and bitterness.”
I frown, a crease forming between my eyes. “Your heart is a garden of rage and bitterness? Must be a lot of weeds.”
“Okay, who’s the smart-ass?” His hand rises to my stomach and he tickles me.
I struggle to get away, but Stone’s got one arm wrapped around me, while the other tickles my side.
“Stop! Stop!”
He releases his hold, but I don’t move. I stay exactly where I am, pressed against him. His heart drums under my palm. His very presence is a luxury, and it’s melting me, bit by bit.
Here, I don’t feel like a castaway fighting to be seen. For just a moment, I feel like a diamond, a glittering gem.
“Were you ever going to tell me about your powers?” he murmurs.
My body goes rigid. “What?”
“I saw the sparks tonight.”
My insides crumble. “No, I wasn’t going to tell you. I wasn’t going to tell anyone.”
“Why not?”
“Because . . .”
My voice trails off, but he picks up the thread.
“Because of how this town sees people like you? Coco, look at me.” I do as he asks.
“You are special, more special than you know, and I will be damned before I let anyone hurt you. Not just because you’ve helped me so much, but because . . . I just won’t.”
I’m completely gone. Lost. No one has ever seen my weakness, my messiness, and told me it’s okay. That I’m okay.
His lips drop toward mine. “I’d take fireworks on my fingers any day of the week if it would give me a hint of who I was.
I can build a structure. I can swing a hammer.
I can design a resort. I know jazz like it’s part of my DNA.
But I have no idea if I was kind. If I was good.
If I was the kind of man you’d kiss. And that’s who I want to be. ”
I’m dumbstruck, blown away by his admission.
Then he lowers his mouth to mine, softly, gently, and I let him. This kiss is a question: Will I allow it?
I kiss him back, opening my mouth as his tongue sweeps inside. All of me dissolves.
It’s been ages since I’ve kissed anyone, and even when I did in the past, it was just kissing.
It wasn’t like this.
Louis Armstrong croons a sweet love song in the background, asking the woman he loves to give her heart and soul to him, and I feel myself cracking open, breaking apart, giving more than I ever intended.
And still we kiss. We sway. A moan whispers from my throat, and Stone’s grip on me tightens in the most exquisite manner.
This is real.
This is so real.
But Stone isn’t. He doesn’t know who he is, and it’s wrong of me to allow this lie between us.
I pull back slightly, breaking the kiss. My lips are swollen and want more. All of me wants more.
Stone presses his head to mine. “What’s wrong? Not enough tongue for you?”
I burst into laughter. “No, no.” My chest cracks as we stare at one another. My God. Who is this man who can wreck me so easily?
“There’s something I have to tell you.”
“If it’s anything other than That was the best kiss of my life, you can keep it.”
A sad smile pushes through my face. “It was an amazing kiss. But it’s something else.”
Stone starts swaying again. “Whatever it is, lay it on me.”
“The thing is . . .” I falter for a moment under his warm gaze, his soft touch. He’s holding me now, but in a second, he’ll drop me like I’m made of fire, and I will be. I will have burned straight through his skin. “The thing is—”
Just as I have the nerve to tell him the truth, the door bursts open and there’s Brittany with Jet behind her, recording.
My sister points to us and shouts, “Found you!”