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“With these checks?” he asks, pointing down to them.
“They’re all I’ve got.”
“You don’t have to pay me a thing.”
“I’d like to,” I argue, picking up the box and pushing it toward him. “It seems fair, and like I said, I don’t want to take advantage of you.”
“Does this have to do with clearing your record?”
I look away, embarrassed. “Yes. I need to get the felony removed somehow. It’s part of my plan.”
He smiles. “Your plan, which you still haven’t told me about.”
“That’s on purpose. I distracted you with questions about living in New York on the way here so you wouldn’t interrogate me about it. I’m still not convinced I should tell you. It’s a little far-fetched, and I wouldn’t blame you if you thought it was insane.”
“I’d still like to hear it.”
“Okay. Well first, sit down.”
He sits then pats the cushion beside him. I don’t hesitate before joining him on the couch, leaving a little distance between us. He laughs and reaches out so he can drag me closer to him. We’re hip to hip, and the tension between us is palpable.
“Tell me,” he says, bending to kiss my cheek.
His cologne consumes me, and before I can stop myself, I lean into him and kiss him on the mouth, a proper greeting we haven’t shared yet. It’s supposed to be a simple peck, but nothing’s ever simple with Nicholas. He kisses me back, harder, and my hands are on the collar of his shirt, fisting the material so he can’t pull away. He leans me back, hovering over me as the kiss deepens.
Plans fly out the window. There is no plan that doesn’t involve his mouth on me, his hands tugging up the bottom of my shirt and then unbuttoning my jeans. There is no future beyond his lips kissing a trail down my stomach, his breath falling on my panties.
Has it only been days since we were last together?
It could have been a lifetime. I’ve forgotten how wonderful it feels to have his weight pin me down, how out of control I feel when he takes charge, how much I like it.
“Tell me your plan,” he teases, hooking his finger around the edges of my underwear and brushing them down my legs. I’m bared for him for a long, agonizing moment before he puts me out of my misery and leans down to kiss me there.
“Nicholas,” I say breathlessly, arching up off the couch.
“Tell me,” he says, swirling his tongue. “My love.”
I lace my hands through his hair and words fall out of my mouth, no sentences, not even real language of any kind. I murmur pleas for him to continue, whimpers as pleasure starts to build inside me.
He gets me so close, and then he backs off, coming up off the couch to stare down at me. I wonder what he sees in me, but I don’t have to wonder if he likes it. His hooded eyes and dreamy expression convince me that I’m everything he’s ever wanted. His words confirm it as he bends down to unzip his pants.
We come apart together on that couch, him rolling his hips and thrusting into me, my nails scraping down his back. It feels endless, like we might never return to life as we know it. This is our new normal. This couch encompasses our entire world.
“Maren,” he whispers against my cheek as we lie there together, after.
“Hmm.”
“Tell me your plan.”
I keep my eyes closed, all the better for concealing how nervous I am to give breath to the dream living inside me. “First promise me you won’t laugh.”
“I won’t laugh,” he says, brushing a few strands of hair off my face.
At that, I begin to talk, telling him what I envision for my future. I talk until my voice is hoarse and we’ve moved from the couch to the shower to his bed.
Nicholas doesn’t laugh once, and when I’m done talking, he assures me we’ll start first thing in the morning, once we’ve rested.
He goes to sleep first, his arm a band of weight across my stomach. I stay up, staring out at the city lights filtering in through his windows, too excited and hopeful, feeling for the first time in my life that things will work out exactly as they should, that the future isn’t so scary and unknown.
It can be an adventure, if I let it.EpilogueMaren“‘The Newport Symphony Orchestra Youth Program is celebrating its fifth year in residence with a free summer concert series. Families are encouraged to bring a picnic dinner and make their way to the gardens of Rosethorn at seven PM, every other Thursday from May through September, starting this week.’”
Edward pauses and looks up at us to see if we want him to continue.
“Go on,” Cornelia says with a nod.
He starts to skim through the article. “There are more details about where to park and all that. And then—oh, listen! ‘The symphony youth program is a collaboration between the Rhode Island Music League and the Newport Preservation Society, but it owes its continued success to its founder, Mrs. Maren Hunt. A graduate of Juilliard and a proponent of youth music programs, Mrs. Hunt works tirelessly to bring awareness and funding to arts programs across the state, and some could say she puts her money where her mouth is.’”
