Page 88 of State of Ruin

“You going far, son?” Kurt asks.

“I’m driving back to Long Island. Traffic shouldn’t be too bad, though.” I smile to show that it’s not a problem, but Sylvie frowns.

“That sounds like a total pain in the ass. You can sleep on the couch, if you like, and head over in the morning.”

“Not a bad call,” Kurt says, cocking his head.

“Oh, no, honestly,” I protest. Perhaps, given Sylvie’s history (and mine), they doubt my suitability to drive. “I’m absolutely fine. I only had half a glass of wine, and that was at the start of dinner.”

But I can feel Elyse’s eyes on me. I look down to where she’s standing beside me, and my heart cracks open once again. Such a beautiful human, inside and out.

“Stay,” she whispers.

CHAPTER 45

Sinclair

Her Stay is pretty much all the encouragement I need. I give one more cursory protest and am, to my delight, instantly overruled. Sylvie and Kurt say their goodnights and disappear, Sylvie with a grin that tells me she’s not too mad not to have gotten rid of me, and Elyse putters around, gathering pillows and blankets.

Then finally, finally, we’re sitting on the couch together with the rest of the Leroy Chambertin. I outstretch my arm, and she curls up against my side.

I stare down at her. “Hey.”

“Hey,” she says dreamily.

“You sure you’re okay with me staying?”

She nods. “I don’t want you to go. Not when I’ve just got you back.”

“Yeah. I didn’t want to go, either. I was dreading it all evening. Your family is wonderful.”

“Thank you. They really are.” She sets her wineglass down on the carpet and reaches up to place her hand on my cheek. “I dig the beard.”

“Really? Not too Unabomber?” In truth, I had it trimmed this week to a sharper, Manhattan-appropriate aesthetic. I thought about shaving it all off but then decided against it. I was kinda hoping a visual reminder that I’m not the man she walked away from last month might serve me.

“It’s very sexy.” She scratches it a little. Her lipstick may have worn off, but I’ve never been more conscious of the fact that I haven’t kissed her in weeks and weeks. “Is it ticklish?”

“Not for me,” I murmur, staring at her mouth. “But you might need to find that out for yourself.”

She smiles at that—challenge accepted—and presses her lips to mine. I practically weep at the relief of it. I’ve been observing her all evening, watching her throughout dinner to see if I could gauge where her head was at. She’s been the perfect host—warm, sweet, considerate—but, the fact of my presence here aside, I haven’t been able to assuage my anxiety over what the future holds… until now.

I utter a strangled “God” as I kiss her back, bundling her up in my arms, where she belongs. She is a shot of whiskey, addling my brain and flooding my body with warmth. As she parts for me and I stroke her tongue with mine, I marvel that this is the best, most complete, most emotive homecoming I could ever have imagined.

We spend a few moments like this, just kissing, making out like teenagers on her father’s couch, rediscovering each other all over again. She is a warm, pliant dream in my arms, and she seems just as absorbed as me in every small detail, judging by the way she caresses my face and strokes my beard and rakes her fingers through my hair. As she does, the little bells on her sweater jingle softly.

Within moments, I’m a wreck. Tears spill from my eyes and slick my cheeks and leak into our kiss.

“Hey,” she murmurs, “it’s okay.”

“It’s not, though,” I say brokenly, cupping her face and pulling away just enough to meet her eyes. “Because I love you so much, and I thought I’d lost you—I thought I’d fucked up so badly that I’d never, ever get to see you again, and I just can’t believe this is happening, and I’m just—I’m having a hard time with it.”

“Hey,” she says again, more urgently this time. “Look at me.”

I do. I look. I drown in her eyes. They’re wet, too. Seems I’m not the only one struggling to manage this emotional overload.

“I love you too,” she says with an earnest expression on her face, and I shake my head.

“No. You can’t. It’s too soon. I need to, uh, I need to earn it.”