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“Of course, you’re not unlovable,” I say to him, the vehemence in my voice causes him to glance up at me. His eyes, normally so white and clear, are bloodshot with his tears. He shakes his head in disagreement.
“How do you know? I mean, you can’t know that . . .” He puts his head back on the steering wheel and closes his eyes.
Watching him, knowing how badly he needs someone to be strong for him, I decide to put my fear aside and be that someone for him. If there has ever been a moment for me to have the courage of my convictions, it’s now.
I lean over the console and put my lips to his ear and whisper, “I do know, Dean. I know because, I love you. I love you, so much. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had, and you’re an incre
dible person.”
He goes still, his eyes, full of agony a second ago are now full of hope when he turns his head to look at me.
“You love me?” He was saying each word slowly, like he has to think about each one before he can utter it.
I nod. My heart in my throat. I thought when I told him how I felt, I would feel vulnerable and scared. Instead, I feel free. The way he's looking at me, with so much hope and the beginnings of happiness in his eyes, makes me feel like right now anything is possible.
His hand comes up, and strokes my cheek with the back of it. His fingers sweep across my forehead and then dive into my hair.
He places a kiss on my forehead and my eyes flutter closed at the contact.
“Dean . . .” It’s a plea. I'm asking him to kiss me, and he doesn’t make me wait.
He tilts my head slightly, rubs his nose down the side of mine and then his lips touch mine, soft, and sure. Right then, in this moment, I know for certain, this is my person. That we have something special and are meant to be. I’ve been kissed before. Nothing has ever felt like this. The touch of his lips does just what I thought it would. It sends my heart into a complete freefall.
“Dean?” I say his name when he pulls back a little. I want to get this thought out before I’m too far gone to think straight.
“Yes?” he responds as he drops kisses on my cheeks.
“That kiss—it wasn’t free. It will cost you,” I whisper, eyes open and locked on his.
“What’s the price?” he asks, drawing back slightly. His eyes are like a force field, they hold me in my place, forcing me to be totally honest.
I put my palm on his chest, over his heart. “I want your heart . . . and I want it forever.”
He doesn’t miss a beat. “It’s yours, Red. It has been for a long time. I love you, too.”
He leans forward and my eyes close as his lips take mine again. This time it’s not just a quick press. His lips lock with mine in a dance that seems to be timed to the beating of my heart.
When his tongue sweeps my bottom lip and my mouth opens for him, our breaths mingle and I could live on that air for the rest of the night. With one kiss, his capture of my very soul is complete and final. This is us. And always will be.
Right before I drift off to sleep, I bring my fingers to my lips. I’ve never stopped feeling that kiss. I’ve never stopped loving him. I hope we can find a way to get past this because I want to have “great” again.
15
* * *
Dinner was wonderful . . . and terrible. We avoided each other’s eyes, focused on Anthony as he talked without pause about his day, his friends, his latest drawing. He was obviously thrilled his mother was back in the land of the living because he talked more over the course of this meal than he had said during the three days we had spent alone together.
I loved watching them interact, but I couldn’t help but wonder about his father. In all of the time I’d been at Milly’s house, he hadn’t called once. The kid had only mentioned him a couple of times. I couldn’t understand how someone could have a wife like Milly and a son as fantastic as Anthony and just leave it all behind. She was all I had wanted my whole life. For her to be the mother of my children had been a fucking goal of mine.
I have seen the difference between a household led by parents who loved each other as opposed to what I grew up in. I knew from the first time I ate dinner at her parents table that this was the kind of family I wanted. I can’t imagine having it and walking away from it.
I need to talk to her about her marriage. I want to know if it’s really over or if there is a chance of reconciliation. My gut twists at the thought.
And we need to talk about our parents. I know she has questions about my dad and I have a shitload about hers.
She comes down from putting Anthony to bed. She's wearing a pair of light gray sweatpants, her Brown sweatshirt, and socks. Her hair is braided and hanging over her shoulder. Her face is completely devoid of makeup, and I think she has never looked more beautiful.
She was a knockout in high school. Now, she's more of a femme fatale. She exudes sensuality without even trying. Her eyes are twin pools of burnished gold. Her face is a study of angles and curves. All of them coming together to give her the look of a woman from Damascus.
