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When you curl up in bed after an eternally long day.
When you eat something you’ve been craving forever.
And normally, it was the eye fluttering that came hand in hand with a really great orgasm.
The moan that accompanied that bite kinda sounded like it was the last item on that list, and I couldn’t even be embarrassed.
“There has to be drugs in that cake,” I groaned. “Holy hell, that’s so incredible.”
Ian wasn’t smiling, but his eyes were bright with satisfaction when he took his own bite. His brow furrowed and there was this deep, delicious sound that came from the back of his throat that had my toes curling inside my fuzzy blue slippers.
That was also the kind of sound that was paired with orgasm-type experiences. Made me glad I’d decided to just roll with … whatever this was, and kick rationality to the fucking curb.
“Almost too sweet for me,” he said.
I cut him a sideways glance. “You bite your tongue. It’s glorious.”
With a wry smile ghosting over his mouth, Ian lifted the fork again with a quirked brow, and I nodded. He served me another bite, watching my mouth carefully as I licked frosting off my bottom lip and then swallowed.
He set the plate down and looked out into the yard. “So how would a famous author describe a night like this?”
“If I meet one, I’ll ask.”
Ian sighed, and if I looked at him, I was quite sure I’d catch him rolling his eyes. “Fine, I’ll play your game. How would a talented author describe a night like that? “ He leaned closer, and his breath smelled like chocolate. “And that’s me asking one, if you were wondering.”
Instead of giving a flippant answer, I closed my eyes and tried to distill all the big emotions into something concrete and easy to describe. Tried to hone in all my senses onto the parts of the moment that could be put into words.
If I was at my computer, I knew my brain might work just a little differently, picking up on the color of the sky, the sharp bursts of light where the stars punched through the velvety blue. I might be able to describe the faint aura of heat coming from his body next to me, tugging me like a magnet just to seek out that thread of comfort. And maybe if I was writing all this down, I’d have a chance to explain how my stomach trembled, dancing lightly with nerves and the bigness of the moment. Or how I felt when I saw what he’d done.
But I wasn’t at my computer, and it was far too vulnerable to try to say any of those things without the option of a delete button. Without the possibility of revisions before anyone else saw it. Speaking out loud, in the moment, was shining a spotlight on all the pieces of my heart that I’d never really shown, and I couldn’t entirely be sure that he, that we, were ready for that.
So instead of even trying, I took a deep breath and said the first thing that came to my mind.
“Almost perfect.” I opened my eyes and looked over at him. “That’s how I’d describe it.”
His jaw tightened briefly, and in the slice of light coming from the front windows, the chiseled features of his face looked darker and even more intense. His eyes were unreadable, and it made me feel like it wasn’t Ian.
Not my Ian, from all those years ago. Not the boy who gave me his coat or taught me how to drive a stick. Who bought me tampons from the store because I was too embarrassed to ask my mom and who never let me get away with anything. The Ian who sat with me when I cried and saw me drool on my pillow when we camped together junior year, and who knew I was more scared of snakes than spiders but never teased me with either.
This was Ian, the man. The one who made my stomach flip-flop. Who made my heart ache with his hidden thoughtfulness, and who made life better in a million ways that I’d never be able to count.
“Almost?”
At the sound of his voice, so perfectly deep, so deliciously low, my eyes wanted to do that fluttering thing again. The orgasm, good cake, lay-in-bed fluttering. But I kept them open and straight on him.
“There was one more thing that I said I wanted on my birthday,” I continued lightly. Then I gave him a little smile. “Do you remember what it was?”
The way Ian studied me in that next beat of silence had my heart hammering wildly under my ribs. There’d be no disappointment if he didn’t remember, but I wanted him to. I wanted this moment with him, just to see what it was like.
I’d spent so many days shoving down Thoughts and Feelings, and this little pocket of time on his front porch felt like a safe space to let them out again. Just for now. In the dark, under the moonlight, with no one watching, no one screaming that it was a horrible idea.
Slowly, he pulled out his phone, and on a deep inhale, he scrolled until he got to a music app. My eyes pricked with tears again, and when he set the phone on the railing and pressed play, I dropped my chin to my chest and let out a small laugh.
He turned, his face so earnest, his eyes searing into mine, and he held out his hand. “Will you dance with me, Harlow?”
A tear slid down my cheek before I could stop it, and I didn’t try to wipe it away. Jerkily, I nodded.
“The blanket might have to go,” he said wryly, and I laughed. Before we began, he stared into my face, using the edge of his thumb to brush the tear away. The pad of his thumb was rough with callouses, and it made my breath catch.
