Chapter 16
Tank
Given how the conversation started, I did not expect it to end with kissing. And I’m not complaining.
I’m not holding back either.
Kissing Rose feels like exhaling after holding my breath for more than a decade. Her lips are soft, and I don’t know why this word pops into my head, but her mouth feels joyful against mine. Hopeful.
The idea of hope may have been part of what brought on Rose’s fear, but hope is a buoyant thing. Hard to pin down or crush or fear hope for long. And as Rose leans in closer, drawing in a quick breath as she angles her head to mine, I swear, I can feel hope rising in her, up and up and up.
My own hope rises to meet hers, and they seem to twine together, forming a bright expectation.
Soon, these strangely lucid thoughts slip away, lost in the haze.
I’m aware only of the kiss. Of my fingertips threading through Rose’s hair, tugging loose her ponytail until I feel the strands tickling my neck as I lean in.
Of the way her waist is a perfect curve against the palm of my hand, shifting and flexing as she arches closer.
Of the breathy sound she makes when I gently tilt her head to gain better access to her mouth.
Mostly, I’m aware of the way her lips feel against mine. One minute teasing and light, the next, insistent and almost demanding.
After the other night when my kids interrupted us, I’ve been thinking a lot about kissing. Wondering if I’d still know how. If muscle memory would kick in the same way it does with catching a ball. Or if it would be the kind of thing where I’d have to start awkward and warm up again.
Ladies and gentlemen, I’m pleased to say that I have not forgotten how to really kiss a woman.
And yet … despite my mouth retaining these moves, everything about this feels fresh.
I thought about kissing Rose before—especially after we were interrupted last night—and worried that it might remind me of Michelle.
But I’m only thinking of Rose now that we break apart. Memories of my wife did not, in fact, haunt me like the Ghost of Kisses Past.
Thankfully.
Rose rests her forehead against mine, panting lightly. “I don’t remember kissing being like this. Maybe it wasn’t ever like this. Not that I’m comparing. I just—maybe I should stop talking.”
I lean forward slightly, so that when I smile and then when I speak, my lips tease hers. “Want me to stop you?”
“Yes, please.”
The desperation in her voice lights a fire in me, and we go back under again.
When we come up for air again, I don’t know how long it’s been.
What I know is that Rose has swung her legs across my lap and I’m twisted toward her in a way that my neck is protesting about now.
Rose must see it on my face, because she winces and straightens up, tugging at the collar of her shirt.
Not that it was out of place—our kisses all stayed in publicly available areas.
Now, Rose reaches up, lightly massaging my neck until my eyes flutter closed and I relax into her touch.
A man could get used to this.
“Thank you,” I say. “I didn’t realize I was at a weird angle. I’ll probably have a crick for the next week because that’s how it works now.”
Her fingers dig in harder, and I hold back a groan.
“Yeah, what is that about?” she says. “Why are things that are normal and shouldn’t be a big deal suddenly a whole event? Two weeks ago I accidentally slept on two pillows instead of just one, and I couldn’t look to the left for two days.”
I chuckle. “I tripped coming up these stairs last month and my entire body ached for days. You’d think I was in a car accident.”
“Do you think we’ll be sore from kissing?” she asks.
“Depends.”
“On?”
I smile, keeping my eyes closed. “How much kissing we do.”
The sound of her laugh when my eyes are closed and her hand is massaging my sore muscles opens up something in me, like a creaky old door has just been unlocked inside my chest.
“We might be in trouble then,” she says.
“Why?”
“It’s been years, and I fear I’m out of practice.”
“You didn’t seem out of practice, Rose.”
“Neither did you.” She gives a little sigh. “I guess we should just prepare for some kind of weird kissing-related soreness tomorrow.”
I open my eyes again, and her hand stills on my neck. “Worth it,” I say, and then I’m pulling her close to kiss her again.
“I can’t believe he has a simulated sunrise inside a cave,” Rose says, scrolling through my photos of Wolf’s bunker for the second time.
She’s sitting on my kitchen island. I lifted her there a few minutes ago after we finished making four batches of cookie dough to chill in the fridge.
She looks cute perched up there, but really I moved her there for easier access.
Very quickly once we moved to the kitchen so I could actually help with baking, I found out that our height difference is more than I realized.
Despite her massage, my neck is honestly a little tweaked, so bending down doesn’t feel the best.
Now, I can steal kisses a little easier while I’m washing the dishes.
“And a sunset. The stars were my favorite part. Oh! And he has the moon set to match the actual phases happening in real life. It’s wild.
When I woke up this morning, I didn’t feel like I was underground.
Because the ‘sun’ was up. I think there is something to the whole circadian rhythm thing he talked about. ”
“Tank, I don’t like that I’m displacing you! Let me find somewhere else to stay. Or just come back. There are two bedrooms. It doesn’t have to be …”
She trails off, and I meet her gaze. “Doesn’t have to be what?” I ask, just because I want to see if my question makes the color rise in her cheeks.
It does. And this pink-cheeked, happy flustered expression might be my favorite of hers. So far.
“You know what I mean. It doesn’t have to be weird now that we’re doing this.”
“You mean, making out like teenagers on the couch? And also in the kitchen?”
She laughs. “Yes, that.”
“I know. I could come back. But I think for now, this is best. I really don’t mind. And the bed in Wolf’s guest room is really amazing.”
“Fine. I still can’t believe he has a whole house built down there.” Rose sets my phone down, shaking her head. “I haven’t had many interactions with Wolf, but it’s hard to imagine him as some kind of engineering mastermind.”
I turn off the water, then immediately start drying.
After Michelle died, I realized that, while I was no slacker when it came to housework or helping with the kids, she had done the lion’s share—and then some.
Once I dug myself out of my grief, I took on all the tasks myself and taught all the kids as well.
I wasn’t ever particularly skilled when it came to cooking, though I do know my way around a grill, but I always enjoyed doing dishes.
There’s something calming in the warmth of the water and the sound of it rushing from the tap.
And something satisfying about watching a plate go from greasy and food-stained to clean.
Right now, it’s exactly what I need to help me think.
“I think that’s part of Wolf’s problem—perception,” I say.
Rose shakes her head, like her thoughts have been elsewhere and she’s trying to catch up to the conversation. It looked like she was watching my hands, so I hope those errant thoughts were on me.
“Sorry—perception is part of what problem?” she asks.
“Wolf’s campaign. He has a lot of support, especially from what I think of as the classic Sheeters. Whereas Billy will carry both the old money and the new inhabitants of Sheet Cake—the planned communities and people who live in Billy’s gated golf course community.”
“Sheet Cake has a golf course?”
“I just found out about it. Apparently, it’s only for use for the residents in that one fancy neighborhood.
Anyway, the point is that, though Billy is a pompous, spoiled jerk, he’s also seen as smart.
Capable. He’s a lawyer, has been on city council, and is currently acting as interim mayor.
He may be a jerk, but he’s slick and knows how to play the game. Whereas Wolf …”
“Runs a bar, is sometimes seen wearing chaps over a Speedo, and has claimed to have a bunker no one had seen until last night,” Rose finishes. Then, her face brightens and she picks up my phone. “What you need is for people to see this. The bunker.”
“I agree. While I don’t begrudge a man for living out his life the way he wants, Wolf’s version of that is hiding the conventional things people would respect.
They need to know that he’s an engineer—not just know it but see it.
He’s smart. Smarter than I would have ever guessed, even once I found out he graduated from A&M. He served in the military too.”
“A hometown hero, really,” Rose says. “Honestly, he’s a bit of a Bruce Wayne. Only the opposite. A rich guy hiding not only the Batman in the Bat Cave, but the Bruce in the mansion too.”
“I like the analogy,” I say with a chuckle.
“Do you think you could have some kind of campaign event there?”
I smile, because I like that Rose doesn’t mind talking to me about this.
And that she’s quick to think of the very same idea I had after waking up in Wolf’s bunker guest room this morning after the best night of sleep I’ve had in days.
“I do think seeing it would do wonders for how people see Wolf. Though it might be a little complicated. The only way down is an elevator that could take no more than eight at a time. But there’s a bigger problem. ”
“And what’s that?” Rose asks.
“Wolf wants to pull out of the race after what happened with the signs.”
Rose’s face falls. “Oh no. That’s really sad. Does he feel too threatened? Or rejected?”
I explain what Wolf said last night about his relationship with Billy. “I convinced him to think about it for a day or two, but I honestly don’t think he’ll change his mind. Not without a good reason.”