Page 46 of Left of Forever

She holds my hand during the ride over to Capitola, and I feel like I am honest-to-god being tickled under my skin, glee crackling and sputtering in every vein of my body. Fireworks all over. I thread her fingers right back through mine the moment she slides out of the car when we get to the restaurant.

“What’s this?” she asks when we walk hand in hand to an overhang covering a small platform. “Where’s the entrance?”

“Down there.” I walk her to the ledge at the border of the deck so she can see the restaurant hugging the cliffside below. “We take a little cable car ride to get down to it.” Lanterns glowing with tea lights line flagstone paths that weave through full, lush gardens surrounding it. The building itself looks like someone’s craftsman-style mansion tucked up on the rocks. Beyond and below are tide pools, the whites of foamy waves still visible in spite of the fading sun. Diffused yellow light shines through the paned windows that cover its multiple floors. There’s an outdoor fireplace on one of the side patios. Globes of string lights sparkling, too.

She gives me a flat look, pursing her lips. “Thatplace serves liver and onions?” she clips.

“They will,” I say innocently. “I called and asked. Pretty sure they thought I was a prank caller when I did. Honestly, Wren, I just wanted to take you to a nice dinner. If it’s too romantic, then I guess I won’t even say happy birthday to you tomorrow to make up for it, but, I promise, it’s not as fancy as it looks and—”

She kisses me. She’s kissing me.

It takes me a second to get my bearings. I’m frozen for a moment, with one of her hands clasping mine and the other cupping the back of my neck so she could pull herself up to me. I boomerang in and out of my body before it comes together.

She’s kissing me. Her lips are on mine after five long years. Five hundred years. She’s kissing me.

I’m home.

CHAPTER 23

WREN

Well, I lasted a little more than a day.

But then he had to go and stand there explaining himself over this beautiful place on this flawless, pristine night. Had to stand there in a charcoal button-up that matches his eyes, dark jeans clinging to strong legs. Sun-kissed face full of hard lines and angles despite being the softest man I know. I’d noticed a few new graying strands of hair in his cowlick and the way the ends of it flipped out against his neck like duck tails and I just couldn’t help myself anymore. He’s worked so hard. He’s trying and he’s earnest, and I somehow forgot just how disarming and sweet. I don’t know how I could have ever forgotten all these parts of him.I’ve missed him I’ve missed him I’ve missed himlooped through my head, and I had to bring my mouth to his.

He’s shocked stiff for a moment, unmoving, and still a quiet whimper escapes me at the feel of his lips. Soft and firm and mine. I taste one with the tip of my tongue, and that breaks himout of his stupor. His hands crash under my hair, and he angles my head, a coarse sound swept out of him when he slots my top lip between his. I nibble at him, and he devours me. I recognize this exact taste. I know when he’s going to adjust the angle of the kiss before he does it. He hasn’t made another noise, but I can feel a million thrumming inside his frame, an undercurrent of electricity ready to spark. I scratch my nails farther up his neck to tug in his hair andthere, there’s that sound I love. A gravelly hum I lick at with greedy strokes of my tongue. I feel his whisperedfucklike a smack between my legs.

I pry him away by his hair when I catch a glimpse of the little red cable car ascending back up the tracks.

“Ellis—” I say, muffled when he pounces back onto me and gently drags his teeth against my bottom lip. I let out a high, reedy sob. “Ellis, the… the reservation.” He’s on my neck now, sucking at a spot beneath my jaw that makes me squirm. Returns to my lips with an indistinguishable murmur.

“Ellis—” I try again. “Dinner. Oh god,” I laugh-moan when he manhandles me, tilts my head back by my hair, and dips to lick a perfect wet stripe up the center of my throat.

“I’ll cut out my own liver and cook it for you myself,” he speaks into my lips. “I’ll fucking forage an onion.”

My laughter makes him wilder. He sips at my mouth like he wants to absorb it.

“I don’t,oh, I don’t—Ellis.Ellis.” I’m panting. I’m nearly too far gone. “Ellis. Either order us a ride back to the hotel right now or take me to dinner,” I command.

He goes rigid under my palms, prying himself off me with a small wet pop. He’s still cupping my face, glazed eyes wild and searching, one side of his hair thoroughly mussed. I make thecritical error of letting my body bow into him and feel how hard he is. How full and thick and big and—

“Dinner,” he rasps. My jaw snaps shut into a pout, and a low noise whisks out of him. “Slow,” he grits.

“Dinner,” I repeat, swallowing forcibly. “And taking it slow,” I say.God, whose shitty idea was that?!“You’ve got a four-minute cable car ride to get that under control,” I tack on, letting my eyes dip to his impressive erection before I thumb some of my lip gloss off his bristled chin and step out of his embrace.

The cable car is big enough for four average-sized people but does not have an ideal amount of space to accommodate our current predicament. He visibly struggles to regain control, his eyes dancing between my lips and neck and chest before they meet my stare and he groans anew.

“Byrd, we’re not going to make it if you keep looking at me like that,” he says, agonized. Almost plaintive.

“How am I looking at you?”

“Like you really might eat me alive. Like you’re devising plans. Like you might let me get under that dress and get my hands full of you and find out if you’re wet.” I bite my lip, and his eyes fall shut, nostrils flaring. “Wren, please, baby, I really need you to turn around or something,” he begs. When I do as he asks, he makes another helpless, throttled sound. “That’s not any better,” he mumbles, his gaze on my ass like a brand.

This is how Ellis ends up spending three silent minutes in a cable car facing away from me with his forehead pressed against the glass.

By the time we’ve descended the hill and reached the broad double-door entry, his condition has resolved itself. His hand is still tentative when he reaches for me, fingertips barely pressinginto my lower back like he’s worried if he touches me any further he’ll ignite again.

A host leads us down a grand staircase and into a spacious room he tells us is known as the Redwood Hall. It’s a converted patio with floor-to-ceiling windows on three sides, a coffered ceiling dotted with chandeliers, and unfettered views of the night sky and ocean beyond. We’re seated at a corner table tucked right up against the glass, and it feels like we’re floating. Candlelight flickers across his brutally handsome face. When our stares catch and hold, his eyes fall limpid and warm. Everything goes calm, stretching into something thick and sweet.