Chapter Nineteen ~ Nathan #2
There’s a sharp tug in my chest, a mix of bitter and sweet that causes a deep ache.
That was a question Murph always asked on our birthdays.
He would tell us that each year should feel different: some were for learning, and some were for growing, while others were for healing or blooming.
This last year has felt like holding myself together so I wouldn’t fall apart.
“Right now I certainly feel older, but I don’t know about wiser.
” If I were wiser, I wouldn’t be in this treehouse right now.
I wouldn’t be looking at Fiona and wondering if her hair is still as soft as it used to be.
I wouldn’t be thinking about what it would be like to lay her down on this blanket and make her see stars of a different kind.
The wine must have dulled my senses because I wasn’t aware Fiona had moved until she’s kneeling in front of me.
Her hands land on my shoulders, her touch light and hesitant.
When I don’t move, she grips me tighter, massaging my shoulders.
With a heavy sigh that ruffles the hair around her face, I reach out to grasp her hips.
“Do you still regret what happened between us last night?” she asks.
“It’s not that I regretted it, I just knew it wasn’t smart.”
She makes a soft humming sound. “Well, you said it yourself, you’re not sure if you’re any wiser…”
I’m not certain which one of us moves first, but in the next instant, we’re kissing.
It’s familiar and new all at once. Her soft, full lips part under mine, giving me a taste of strawberries and cherries mixed with the unique sweetness Fiona always had.
The kiss deepens, and my hands dive into her hair, tangling in the silky tresses and stirring up her familiar tropical scent.
For years, I avoided anything that smelled like coconut, papaya, or mango because it reminded me of Fiona and alternately made me angry and turned on. Sometimes both.
The memory of that has me breaking away, my grip on her arms a bit too rough as I push her back. “We shouldn’t. It’d complicate things, and we’re finally on the right track after all these years.”
She watches my mouth as I speak. Her lips are slightly parted, red and wet and oh-so-tantalizing. She blinks, and her gaze flicks up to meet mine. “Of course. You’re right.”
I’m glad she thinks so, because I’m not sure I am right.
“I should go.” I rise clumsily from the blanket, grabbing my boots without taking time to put them on.
I don’t allow myself to look back at her as I cross the room.
My hand is on the doorknob when she says my name.
Her voice is so soft, I might have imagined it.
I’m tempted to keep going, but something compels me to face her once more.
Her hair is in disarray from my greedy hands, and she’s brushing absently at her swollen bottom lip. She opens her mouth as if she wants to say something, then closes it again, offering me a rueful smile.
The combination of that smile and her dishevelled appearance makes something snap inside me. I barely recognize the low growl of my own voice as I say, “Fuck it.”
Fiona’s eyes go wide as I toss my boots to the ground and cross the room in a few strides.
A breathy sound escapes her as I drop to my knees in front of her.
She reaches for me, her fingers tangling in the front of my shirt as my mouth descends on hers.
If our kiss before was intense, this one is an inferno, and I’d happily let the flames devour me whole if it meant I could hang onto this, to her.
Her hands remain fisted in my shirt as she shifts from her knees to her butt.
With our mouths still fused, I cup the back of her head and ease her down onto the blanket, nudging her legs wider so I can position myself between them.
I’m growing harder by the second, and the way Fiona rocks against me is muddling my brain.
This time, she’s the one who breaks away first. “What are we doing?” The question comes out so fast it sounds like one long, breathless word.
I push myself up to sit on my knees between Fiona’s legs.
The sight of her laid out in front of me, chest heaving, hair splayed on the blanket beneath her, dress rucked up high on her pale thighs, is nearly too much.
It makes all sorts of reckless thoughts and feelings race through me.
I take her hands and pull her into a seated position.
Being face-to-face with her and feeling her breath on my skin isn’t much better.
“Do you remember when you first left to travel, we agreed to hit the pause button until you got back?” I ask.
It’s one of many buried memories that have resurfaced since Fiona has been home.
We both knew she planned to travel, to see what was out there and experience more of the world outside of Honeywell, but there was no doubt we loved each other.
Neither of us knew what the future held, but I felt a deep certainty that her leaving would change things one way or another.
She’d either get the travel bug out of her system and come back to Honeywell—to me—or she’d find what she’d always seemed to be missing, and would forge a completely new life on her own.
It would have been easier to have a clean break, but I wasn’t ready to let her go.
And as much as she longed to see the world, I think part of her hoped she’d be satisfied with a few months of travelling, and would return to Honeywell ready to build a life with me.
When I think of the younger versions of us, I want to laugh at how foolish we were.
We were babies; our lives had barely even begun.
All I knew was that I loved Fiona, I wanted to be with her, and I couldn’t stand the thought of losing her completely.
“I remember,” she says. “It feels like a lifetime ago.”
It does. We’re both completely different people now.
And yet, god help me, I still want her as much as I did back then.
The thoughts spinning in my mind prove I haven’t grown any wiser in the last year.
Hell, maybe I haven’t grown any wiser in all the years that have passed since Fiona and I made that agreement.
“What if we hit the pause button again right now?” I ask. “I know it’s stupid and unrealistic, but I want to pause it all: the grief, the knowledge that you’ll be leaving soon, any thoughts of the past or future. I’ve never been good at living in the here and now, but I’d like to try.”
“Can you really do that, Nathan?” The doubt in her voice matches the uncertainty in her eyes. She knows me too well.
That doesn’t stop me from saying, “Yes.”
The way Fiona stares into my eyes makes me think she can read every thought in my head. She always seemed to know what I was thinking, sometimes even before I did. Finally, she shifts closer to me and rests her hands on my chest. “And what does this moment hold?”
“Us. You and me. Not who we were, not our history, not what we meant to each other. Not what happens tomorrow or next week or next month. Just us, right now. No expectations, no promises.”
Uncertainty lingers in her eyes. Her fingers flex on my chest as if she’s resisting the urge to fist my shirt like she did earlier.
I inch closer to her, letting my lips hover over hers, giving her a chance to pull away.
I both hear and feel her sigh as she brings her mouth to mine.
The kiss is soft, tentative, and achingly sweet.
I break away and ease her back onto the floor once more. She grins up at me, and, oh god, I’m in so much trouble. Her smile wavers, and she bites her lip as I run my palms up the insides of her thighs, lifting her dress as I go until her yellow lace panties are exposed.
“Colour coordinated. I like it.”
Her lip pops free from between her teeth, and she smiles once more. “I got dressed today with you in mind. I remembered how you used to love it when I wore yellow.”
“Miss Murphy, were you hoping to seduce me?”
Her smile turns wicked. “It worked, didn’t it?”
“Mm. Happy birthday to me.” I reach up and finger a lock of her hair before letting my hand trail slowly down, over the curve of her breasts and stomach.
“I always loved you in this colour because of the way it contrasted with your hair. The deep red paired with yellow always reminded me of that moment during a sunset when the sun meets the skyline.”
I don’t add that it also made me think of the next instant during a sunset, when it appears as if the sun is consumed by the horizon. That’s how Fiona always made me feel: consumed.
Her gaze is intent on my face, her expression soft and open. With our eyes locked, I glide my fingers over the damp material between her legs. She arches into my touch, so I do it again, then again until she lifts her hips in silent invitation for me to remove her underwear.
I take them off and cast them aside, fighting the temptation to stuff them into the pocket of my jeans. This pause is temporary; I don’t need any souvenirs. It’s not like I’ll ever be able to forget this moment anyway.
I position myself between Fiona’s legs and drag my fingers slowly through her wetness.
She whimpers when I reach her clit, and echoes the sound when I lower my face to replace my fingers with my mouth.
The next noise she makes sounds almost like a relieved sigh, and I think: Me too, Firefly, me too.
I never thought I’d touch or taste Fiona like this again, and it feels oddly like a homecoming of sorts.