8. Landon #5
The drive back to the athletic complex passed beneath a clean sky, sunlight still drying the edges of the road.
Nolani sat angled toward me with one leg folded beneath her, our hands linked above the console and the bookstore bag resting carefully in her lap.
Every few minutes, her thumb moved along mine.
Sometimes, she squeezed my fingers for no reason beyond confirming I was still touching her.
I lifted her hand and kissed it.
“You’re clingy.”
“I’m attentive.”
“You’ve kissed my hand at least fourteen times today.”
“So you counting too.”
“That wasn’t the point.”
“It became the point when you produced documentation.”
Nolani smiled toward the windshield. “Eyes on the road.”
“They are.”
“They were on me.”
“Peripheral excellence.”
“Inflated understanding of your abilities.”
“Clean driving record.”
“For now.”
I winked and returned our hands to the console.
“You nervous?”
“About your driving?”
“About going home.”
Nolani looked ahead as the athletic complex drew closer. “No.”
“That answer got another sentence hiding behind it.”
She glanced at me. “I’m not nervous. I just don’t want the day to end.”
That took every joke I had lined up and sent them home.
I brought her hand to my mouth again, then settled it against my thigh.
“It doesn’t end.”
“We’re about to stand beside my car and say goodbye.”
“Nah. We’re pausing until Thursday.”
“That’s semantics.”
“Semantics matter. Goodbye leaves the next hello uncertain. Ours already scheduled.”
Her smile came slowly.
“You refuse to let anything sound sad.”
“I don’t manufacture grief while joy is still active.”
Nolani went still beside me.
I kept my attention on the road.
“That was beautiful.”
“I know.”
“And you ruined it.”
“I protected it from excessive emotional exposure.”
“You cannot receive praise without interfering.”
“Say it again. I’d like another opportunity to demonstrate growth.”
Her laughter filled the SUV.
The athletic complex appeared beyond the next intersection. Her SUV sat where she’d left it. I parked beside it but didn’t turn off the engine.
Neither of us moved.
Nolani looked toward her vehicle, then down at our hands.
“I have to get out eventually.”
“I’m reviewing alternatives.”
“You gave an entire speech about pausing until Thursday.”
“Policy has been reconsidered.”
“You cannot sustain a relationship by refusing to return me to my vehicle.”
“You sound sure.”
“I own businesses.”
“Two.”
“I have responsibilities.”
“I know.”
“And clothes at home.”
“You got my shirt.”
“That is not a wardrobe.”
“Strong foundation.”
She smiled, but reluctance stayed underneath it. Then she released her seat belt and turned fully toward me.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For yesterday. Your family. The cabin. This morning. The bookstore. The beach. For making room for me without making me feel like I had to shrink to fit.”
I lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles.
“You don’t ever have to thank me for loving on you well.”
Her breath caught.
“Loving on me?”
Yeah.
I heard it too.
Could’ve cleaned it up.
Didn’t want to.
“Yeah.” Nolani searched my face. I held her stare. “You don’t have to say anything back before it belongs to you. I’m just telling you where I am.”
Her fingers touched the pendant once.
Then left it.
She leaned across the console and kissed me.
Full.
Tender.
No borrowed declaration attached to it.
I took exactly what she gave me.
When she pulled back, her mouth stayed close to mine.
“You really don’t scare easy.”
“Of course I do.”
That surprised her.
“Of what?”
“You.” Her eyebrows rose. I smiled faintly. “What you could mean to me. Difference is fear doesn’t get voting rights over here.” Something in her expression opened. “I don’t need easy, Hershey. I need honest, reciprocal, and worth showing up for. You got all three.”
“You’re dangerous when you stop joking.”
“Nah. I’m dangerous when I mean every word.”
“You mean them when you’re joking too.”
“That’s why you keep smiling.”
She laughed against my mouth when I kissed her again.
This one took longer.
Her fingers slipped into my locs while my hand settled behind her neck, and Thursday started looking disrespectfully far away.
Eventually, she touched her thumb to my lower lip.
“I should go.”
“I know.”
“You’re not arguing?”
“I’m practicing emotional maturity.”
“How does it feel?”
“Unnatural and poorly rewarded.”
She laughed while I killed the engine.
I walked her to the SUV, carrying the picnic tote and bookstore bag despite the look she gave me.
“I can carry those.”
“I know.”
“You’ve become predictable.”
“Consistency often does.”
I put the tote in the back and the bookstore bag carefully on the passenger seat. My black T-shirt remained folded inside her overnight bag.
I noticed.
Said nothing.
Some victories deserved privacy.
Nolani leaned against the driver’s door while I stood in front of her with one hand at her waist. The field had gone still behind us, and sunlight caught the edges of her curls.
“Call me when you get home.”
“You’re not my parole officer.”
“Nah, love. I’m your man. Different jurisdiction.”
Her lips curved. “What penalties exist for noncompliance?”
“I come looking for you.”
“Dramatic.”
“Practical. I know the route.”
“I’ll call.”
“Before emails.”
“You ask too much.”
“Before Nyla.”
“Impossible.”
“Before she launches an investigation into how many times I kissed you.”
“Even more impossible.”
I lowered my mouth near hers. “Before you unpack?”
“Conditional agreement.”
“That’s a yes with luggage attached.”
Her laugh disappeared beneath my mouth.
She held my shirt with both hands as we kissed, keeping me close without pretending either one of us wanted the goodbye.
When we separated, I rested my forehead against hers.
“Thursday. Seven thirty. Saturday morning.”
“I remember.”
“I know you do.”
Nolani’s fingers traced the front of my shirt.
“I remember everything about you.”
I kissed her forehead, then both cheeks, then her mouth because pretending I had enough discipline to skip the best one would’ve been ridiculous.
She opened the driver’s door but paused.
“Drive safely, baby.”
I looked at her.
Long enough for her to know exactly why.
“You keep putting baby in your mouth like that, Saturday gon’ start feeling disrespectfully far away.”
“You have work.”
“I got personal days.”
“Landon.”
“As you wish, love. Saturday.”
She climbed inside shaking her head, smile intact. I waited until she started the engine, buckled her seat belt, and connected her phone before closing the door.
Nolani lowered the window.
“You can stop supervising now.”
“I’m admiring.”
“From a regulatory distance?”
“Roll your window up, Hershey.”
She laughed and obeyed, but blew me a kiss before the glass closed.
I caught it against my chest.
Her face through the windshield said I’d embarrassed her.
The grin said otherwise.
I stepped back and watched her reverse. At the stop sign, one hand came through the sunroof and waved before she turned toward the exit.
I stayed beside my truck until she disappeared beyond the trees.
The space she left didn’t feel empty.
Thursday already had our names on it. Saturday belonged to us after that. My shirt was in her bag, the book I’d chosen sat on her passenger seat with a message she hadn’t found yet, and my name had found a softer home in her mouth than it occupied the day before.
The storm had brought Nolani into my night.
Daylight hadn’t taken my woman from me.
It just proved I liked her there even more.