50. Sophie
FIFTY
SOPHIE
Maya and Davis are putting us to shame as they move around the dance floor with a fluidity I can barely imagine let alone accomplish. I’ve stepped on Foster’s foot no fewer than six times, and his hand is so sweaty it’s almost impossible to maintain our grip. How I thought I’d do better with the tango than I had with line dancing is beyond me. I blame Foster and his damn enthusiasm.
“Maybe don’t pick a tango for your first dance,” Maya leans over and whispers while we watch the instructors demonstrate the next set of moves.
“Oh, we won’t.” Foster laughs, pulling me tighter into his side, his fingers sneaking below my shirt, lazily caressing my skin.
The way he takes that exchange in stride, without stammering or making excuses about how it’s too soon to be discussing such things, warms something deep within me.
I manage to miss most of the demonstration because I’m too busy looking at Foster. I’m beginning to realize that I’ve never felt like this for anyone. I thought I was in love with Gregory, but I never missed him the way I miss Foster when he’s not in the same room with me. I never found myself smiling stupidly while thinking of him. My heart never raced at the thought of seeing him soon.
“Ready?” Foster asks, holding his hand out to me.
“Are your feet?” I joke, laying my hand in his and letting him pull me into his body. This part is seamless; my body doesn’t fight any aspect of getting closer to him. But then my feet don’t do what they’re supposed to do. I’m like a newborn foal out here trying to keep a rhythm on ice.
Eventually, Foster and I move into a slow waltz type dance while Davis and Maya dance dramatically around us. We tried and that’s the main thing, but now I’m quite content to rest my head next to Foster’s and match my breathing to his.
Intimacy , I think. This is what I’ve been missing. These quiet moments where we simply exist in this little bubble together.
While T is technically Foster’s letter and we have kind of learned a very basic tango, I couldn’t help doing a little add-on after we get back to Foster’s apartment.
He’s sitting on the stool at the counter, blindfolded, waiting patiently for what’s to come. Me on the other hand, I’m fidgety as all hell while I open little containers as quietly as possible, worrying that this idea is beyond dumb and won’t play as seductively as I hope it will.
“Ready?” I ask, stepping in front of him with the first tiny cup.
“I was born ready,” he says confidently.
“You don’t even know what this is?” I laugh. “Hold out your hand.”
I set the cup in his hand and direct him to smell. He raises it to his nose and gives a tiny sniff, his lips turning up immediately.
“Do I get to taste it?”
“If you’d like.”
“I’d like.”
This is where I hope things don’t turn weird. I’ve been imagining this since he told me about his favorite challenge on Top Chef. Long before touching him became a possibility. Dabbing my finger into the golden liquid I then apply a dab to the center of my bottom lip before leaning in and kissing him.
When his lips meet mine, a tiny sound of satisfaction leaves them. His tongue sweeps across my lip, and I feel his smile as the sweet honey settles on his taste buds.
“Honey,” he murmurs against my mouth. “The one from the farmers’ market.” He kisses me again, tasting my entire mouth this time. “Wanted to make sure I got it all.”
“You’re very thorough, Mr. Walsh.” I push back gently, wiping my lips just in case there’s any honey left and reach for the next cup.
Foster gets everything right. Mind you, it’s all sauces, which he claims are easier than herbs and spices, but he’s definitely not complaining.
“Last one,” I say, handing over the cup and watching him smell. He’s smiling before it even reaches his nose.
“Mmm, I can’t wait to taste this one.” He hands the cup back, and I apply the maple syrup quickly because as fun as this has been, I am very ready to get on with the evening.
He’s kept his hands to himself throughout the game, but the minute my lips meet his, they’re around my waist, pulling me into him.
Twenty minutes later, I’m the one with the blindfold on as Foster’s tongue dances across my skin. The combination of not being able to see where he’s going next and the stroke of his tongue unravels the fabric of my being.
All I can think right before his tongue dips between my legs and I release a moan that could wake the dead is that Top Chef could never.
“Now this was a good idea,” Maya squeals as we walk through the aquarium.
I’d seen an ad for an adults-only after-dark night at the aquarium a couple years ago, but Gregory had rolled his eyes and told me it was childish. How he worked that out was beyond me when the event was eighteen-plus. So when I saw a post about it last week, I bought four tickets immediately. At first I didn’t even factor in the alphabet, but when I’d mentioned it to Foster, he’d nodded and said that underwater was a solid choice for U.
So here we are, walking hand and hand through a tunnel while sharks swim lazily above our heads. It’s far more peaceful than I had anticipated. No kids allowed probably helps.
“Soph, can you take a picture while there’s no one around?” Maya asks, practically throwing her phone at me and pulling Davis into the center of the tunnel. Considering he was supposed to be a fling, Maya sure looks at the man like he’s her world. “Okay, now you two.” She takes her phone back and motions for us to go stand where she and Davis had been.
“Do you trust me?” Foster asks.
“Of course,” I reply, curious why he’d ask me such a thing.
I think he’s going in for a kiss, but his head moves to the side and suddenly I’m spun around as his one hand supports my shoulders and his other drops to my thigh.
He dips me dramatically, and then his lips cover mine in a kiss that would leave me on the floor if he didn’t have his arm around me.
I’m faintly aware of a hoot coming from somewhere nearby, but I block it out and focus completely on all the places Foster is touching me. This is one of the times hyper-fixation benefits me. Everything around me seems to fade away as I zero in on the way his left hand grips and loosens over and over again. The way his tongue explores my mouth. The feel of his heart beating wildly beneath my palm. I want to stay like this. Just him and me in this underwater world.
“Okay, you two, I got like six hundred pictures, let’s move along,” Maya calls.
Foster pulls back a little bit but only so he can look down at me. “What?”
He shakes his head and pulls me the rest of the way up, kissing me quickly before Maya and Davis join us to continue through the tunnel.
“Oh my god, it’s so much harder than I expected,” I grunt. “Oh shit, I’m so sorry,” I apologize to the pottery instructor who got the bulk of my splattering clay. At least he’s wearing an apron.
“Happens all the time.” he says with a chuckle. “May I?” he asks, gesturing toward the elongated lump on my wheel.
“By all means.” I raise my hands in surrender and vacate the chair. I watch as he works to reshape what I ruined and do my best not to make a remark about what it looks like. Foster catches my eye, and I have to look away to keep from laughing, focusing extra hard on someone else working on my vase.
“Alright,” the instructor says, standing from the chair. “Slow and steady this time.”
Foster leans into my space. “I’m kind of glad you didn’t do that well.”
“Oh? Why is that?”
He raises an eyebrow at me. “I was getting a bit jealous of the clay.” The loudest, most obnoxious snort leaves my body. “Hot,” he whispers, going back to the vase he’s nearly finished.
“Wedding at a winery,” Foster says as he backs into an empty spot. “This seems almost too convenient.”
I’m about to answer but the way he grins over at me freezes my tongue, and all I manage is a little hum and a starry-eyed smile. Not long ago I was planning on attending Yasmine and Miguel’s wedding with someone totally different. But as I sit here staring at Foster, I can’t even picture who. It feels like it was always going to be Foster.
“Ready?” he asks, one hand on the door handle while the other gives my hand a quick squeeze.
I manage to blink out of my stupor and nod. I have never been more ready.
Yasmine is crying as she practically drags her father down the aisle toward her future husband. When I look back at Miguel, tears sting my eyes. He’s standing so tall, so proud as he watches the love of his life walk toward him, tears streaming down his own face.
Foster’s hand in mine tightens, and I look over to see that he too has tears running down his face. He barely knows Yasmine and Miguel, and here he is openly crying at their wedding. I adore him , I think, looking back in time to see Yas kiss her father on the cheek and hand her sister her bouquet with one hand while reaching for Miguel’s with the other.
The officiant does their thing while the small number of us in attendance laugh and cry some more. No one thought this day would come—well, no one except Yasmine. I’d smiled along to all her plans for the future with the guy she’d fallen for as a teenager, but I’m ashamed to admit that I hadn’t had the hope she did. I was scared of her hope and what would happen to it if things didn’t turn out for them. Terrified of what an unsuccessful transplant would do to my friend. I get it now, though—if it had been me and Foster, I wouldn’t have had anything but hope.
“I love a short ceremony,” Maya sighs as we walk toward the barrel room for cocktail hour. “This is exactly what I want,” she adds quietly so only I can hear her, her gaze sliding to Davis as he and Foster grab us drinks.
“Nothing big and flashy?”
“Oh, I didn’t say that. Everything will be big and flashy, but the boring stuff will be short and sweet.” She winks.
“Mmm.” I nod. “Like Davis.”
Her responding laughter echoes off the walls.
I can name almost everyone in the room. Thirty guests, all family and close friends. It’s exactly what I’d want except I want to get married at my parents’ farm, down by the cottage. I want to kick off my shoes and dance barefoot all night long. And I want to do all of that with the man handing a glass of wine to me, wearing the same blue suit he picked me up in for that first friend date.
“What?” Foster asks, grinning at me before popping a stuffed mushroom into his mouth. His eyes close, and he makes a noise I’ve only ever heard him make in bed.
“Seems like I have competition,” I whisper and watch as his cheeks darken.
He leans down, his lips brushing my ear. “Nothing stands a chance against you, sunshine.” His lips meet the sensitive skin right below my ear, and I feel the need to grip the high-top table in front of me.
During dinner, Foster insists I try everything on his plate he thinks I’ll like, and as usual he’s right. Celeriac puree is delicious, who knew?
There is a first dance shortly after dinner, and we all stand in a circle around the bride and groom as they sway to Echosmith’s “Surround You.” When the last verse begins, they both gesture for their guests to join them. Foster wraps his arms around my body and pulls me in close. I let myself enjoy how right this all feels. A relaxing evening with my friends and my… Foster.