Chapter 19
AURORA
“What would you think about dating a younger man?”
Roman’s words only half register. “I don’t know.” My mind is still full of his grandmother and grandfather; they’ve all passed by now, a generation gone, and yet somehow it’s still sad. “It would depend how much younger, I guess.”
“Five years younger.”
His voice is even, decisive, and I freeze when I realize what he’s saying—where our conversation has strayed without me noticing.
“What—you?” I say, because that’s what he means, isn’t it? “How would I feel about dating you?” I laugh, a sound that’s somehow too loud in the little foyer.
But Roman doesn’t laugh, and silence falls between us. I turn around to face him fully, shrugging uncomfortably.
My heart should not be beating like this. My cheeks should not be growing so warm. There’s a sense of anxiety, too, something tangled in the pit of my stomach that walks a very fine line between pleasant and unpleasant.
“Of course not. You’re—” But I break off when the words won’t come.
And I hate this—I hate that even though I’m always so sure, somehow around Roman I end up vulnerable.
“I’m…what, exactly?” he says. The words are casual, calm, his mouth hooked into a little smile.
He leans against the bannister of the stairs like he’s got all the time in the world, like this is just another conversation.
We might be talking about when I’ll be back next, or what my plans are for the kitchen cabinets.
But we’re not talking about any of those things, and my heart is beating faster, and my fingers are buzzing in a weird way.
What is happening right now? How did we get here, exactly?
I flex my hands and clear my throat. “You don’t date, do you?”
He gives a casual twitch of his shoulders and tucks his hands in his pockets. “I could date someone. If I wanted.”
I look more closely at him, trying to picture it. On one hand, I can imagine exactly what dating Roman would look like. There’s something about him that’s undeniably appealing. But I tilt my head as my curiosity overcomes my discomfort.
Would he knock on the door with a bouquet of flowers in one hand, Rubik’s cube in the other? Would he take me to a nice restaurant and kick his feet up on the table?
Quiet falls between us once more, and the atmosphere grows thick as I stare at him. “You’re only twenty-five.” I raise my brows, still thinking, and the words escape without my permission. “Could you even be the kind of man I’d need you to be?”
Roman’s expression is calm, but he gives a slow, sure nod.
I hum, a sound laced with skepticism as my eyes fall to his lips.
They’re nice lips. Perfect, in fact…
“And could you kiss me like I expect a man to kiss me?” I say.
A flash of amusement jumps in his eyes. When he speaks, his voice is calm but utterly and supremely confident, not boastful but assured. “I could, yes,” he says, and for reasons I cannot explain, shivers run down my spine.
Roman drifts closer, his eyes dropping to my lips. “I might be younger than you,” he says quietly, “but there are some things a man knows how to do, Aurora.”
I think my heart has come dislodged in my chest. For a brief moment I held the upper hand in this conversation, and now it’s gone. My pulse is a rattling, shaky rhythm, my insides untied like shoestrings.
“So…what?” I try for a breezy laugh, but the sound is weak. “What are you trying to say?”
He takes another step closer, until I’m pressed fully against the front door. “I’m asking you out.” There’s a brief pause, and then he goes on. “I think I like you.”
I need to see a doctor. There’s something wrong with my heart. It’s going to escape from my chest at these words, and incredibly, bizarrely, the feeling isn’t altogether unpleasant.
And yet…
“Don’t.” The word is hoarse as it slips from my lips.
Roman blinks, and for the first time, his brows twitch in surprise. “What?”
My throat is thickening, my heart sinking. “Don’t like me.”
The flash of surprise vanishes as his face goes blank, so quickly the sight is almost disconcerting. Then, as though I imagined the whole thing, he grins and shakes head.
“All right,” he says. “I won’t.”
He tucks one hand in pocket and reaches past me with the other, grabbing the keys from the hook by the door. He twirls them around one finger and says, “Well, I need to run some errands. Don’t worry about locking up when you’re done.”
“I—wait.” Something strangely painful is blooming in my chest, and it hurts to swallow. I know exactly why, but I push forward. “Is this—are we going to be awkward about this?”
For the love, Aurora, I tell myself. Get it together and stop stuttering.
Roman gives an easy shrug accompanied by a smile that’s just as easy. Regardless, his eyes reveal nothing—a strange sight, actually. I never realized how expressive his gaze is, but now that there’s nothing there, I can’t help but notice.
“Of course not,” he says. “I’m never awkward.” He winks at me and nudges my shoulder so that I shift sideways away from the door. “See you later,” he says.
“Wait.” I blurt the word out as an absurd idea springs into my mind—an idea where maybe I can have a little bit of everything.
That’s possible, isn’t it? I can find a way.
The air in my lungs stills; the foyer quiets from silence to vacuum. I take a deep breath and then speak.
“If you would be okay with something more casual than—than dating, specifically—” But I break off, because the words aren’t coming out of my mouth. I’ve said them before to other men, and they always worked.
Why can’t I spit them out?
But it seems I don’t need to complete my sentence, because understanding passes over Roman’s face. He raises his eyebrows as once more genuine surprise flashes over his features. Like last time, though, the expression disappears in an instant, replaced by something guarded.
“Little vandal,” he says, tilting his head. “Are you trying to propose that we have a fling?” His hand falls away from the door handle as he turns to face me more fully. “Something to get any pesky feelings out of our systems?”
I swallow, but I’m not sure my throat is working.
I was about to propose that—something that would let me test things with Roman while staying safe from any more heartache or stupid feelings.
Except the words are still stuck between my teeth, and they’re souring—and what on earth is wrong with me that an idea I found appealing with Bart and even Tyler in the beginning somehow feels wrong now?
I don’t deny it, because I’m not going to lie, and Roman nods as he looks more closely at me.
“You were. You were going to take dating off the table and replace it with something easier.” When he cocks a brow at me, it’s not playful or arrogant like I’m accustomed to; it’s faintly mocking.
“Why back out now? That’s the kind of person I am, isn’t it?
Picking up women in bars and sending them home in the morning?
” His voice has dropped to something soft but cool.
“And that’s what you want, isn’t it?” he goes on.
“So go ahead and ask. How do you know I won’t agree? ”
It’s too warm in this foyer—too warm and, somehow, also too cold. Roman is looking at me in a way he’s never looked at me before. And I know he wouldn’t agree to a fling. What’s more, I think…
I think I might even be upset if he did. I have no idea why, or what I’m feeling, or why something deep down feels like it’s being torn in half, seeing him look at me like this—mocking and closed off.
Roman wouldn’t agree to something so cheap. And although I tried to offer it, maybe deep down I was opposed too, because I couldn’t even get the words out.
“I don’t really date. Or—I try not to.” I press my hands tightly to my sides because they’re shaking, and it’s embarrassing. My words come out broken, too, but I keep my head held high.
The problem is…I’m not sure this is something to be proud of.
When a derisive snort escapes Roman, he leans back against the front door and shakes his head tiredly.
“I’m sure you don’t,” he says. “You start to like a man and then keep him at arm’s length, close enough to reap a few benefits but far enough that it’s easy to discard him when he disappoints you.
And you wait for that disappointment to happen.
You watch for it.” Then he sighs. “Are you going to live like that? Forever?”
I don’t answer, because I have no words, and my tongue is swollen painfully in my mouth, and the ground is no longer solid beneath me. It’s shaking just like my hands, tremors that threaten to knock me off-balance and careening into a pit of doubt and questions.
“Forget about it,” he says after a moment of silence.
The coolness in his voice is gone; there’s nothing but politeness now, accompanied by a distant smile.
“I might not be around much from here on out,” he goes on.
“I’m working on lining up new employment.
Let me know when you’re all done. I’ll make sure you’re paid for everything. ”
Then, with a lurch of the front door and unnaturally swift steps, he’s gone—away from me, away from the conversation we just had, away from any possibilities that existed between us.
A tickle against my cheek startles me out of my thoughts, and I slap the spot quickly. I pull my hand away expecting to see a bug, but there’s no black smudge—only the remains of a single tear.
There are two big problems with lying to my sisters:
1) I am not good at hiding my feelings, and
2) My sisters are not stupid.
I managed to get out the door this morning without seeing much of them, because I was still tangled up about yesterday.
I ran some of our typical Saturday errands, and then I ran some less-typical errands, just to keep out of the house.
I had hoped that by the time I got home I would be feeling better, but to my surprise, I wasn’t.