Emeline’s heart pounded as she greedily traced him back.
The next thing she remembered was staggering to the bedroom with him. And after: her hands sliding beneath his sweater, tugging it up over his head, dropping it to the floor in a heap. And then: stumbling into the bed.
As Emeline lay beneath him, trying to unbutton his jeans, Hawthorne stopped her, bringing her hands up beside her head, trapping her palms beneath his.
“Wait,” he whispered, kissing her throat, her collarbone, her shoulder, then moving farther down, to her hips and thighs and …
Emeline went rigid. “Hawthorne?”
“Mmm?”
“What are you doing?”
His hands cupped her thighs as he looked up at her. “Do you trust me?”
Emeline bit her lip. The thought of him kissing her there, between her legs, scared her a little. Did he know what he was getting into?
“Hey.” Hawthorne stopped and came back up, covering her with his whole body, his skin hot against hers, warming her up. “We don’t have to do this, remember? Say the word and we’ ll stop.”
“No, it’s just …” She wrinkled her nose and turned her faceaway, feeling embarrassed. “I’m afraid you’ ll be grossed out.”
He stared at her like she’ d grown a second head. “Is that your only hesitation?”
Still looking away from him, she nodded.
He turned her face gently back to his, kissing her deeply, making her thoughts go fuzzy. But then he was gone again, moving back down her body. His mouth was warm as he kissed between her thighs. Emeline buried her fingers in his hair as he held on to her, kissing her until she gasped.
The warmth went away as Hawthorne’s head came up.
“Are you okay?”
She nodded fiercely. “Yes. Are you?”
There was the hint of a smile. “Best day of my life.”
Emeline covered her face with her hands, biting down on a smile.
Soon, she relaxed. Hawthorne’s mouth moved gently against her, not stopping until her breathing changed and she unfurled likea flower, glowing with pleasure..
In the aftermath, Hawthorne came to lie beside her, his hands moving reverently over her.
“Where did you learn how to do that?” she whispered.
He smiled against her collarbone.
“I read it,” he said, pulling her close. “In a book.”
THAT SPRING, SHE SAVEDenough money to move to Montreal.
It was June, and the city was calling her. Emeline was almost eighteen and didn’t want to stay in Edgewood any longer. She didn’t want to sit in a classroom, watching the clock, waiting for her life to begin. She wanted to be a musician. To make her way in the world, writing and singing her songs, playing them beneath the lights.
One night, she and Hawthorne got caught in a thunderstorm.They were waiting it out on the dusty steps of the barn stairwell.
“I signed a lease,” she said, her fingertips tracing his palms in thedark. “I think you should come with me.”
He pulled his hands out from under hers, saying nothing. They’ d been through this before. Only now it was really happening. And Emeline was determined to convince him.
“You could work in a library. Or a bookstore. You’ve read more books than anyone I know.”
