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Fuck, I love her so much.
The front door opens and Cora stands in the doorway looking at me with questions in her eyes. “You okay?” she asks, doubt in her voice. No doubt she has seen me standing out here. Hopefully not for too long.
“Yeah. Sorry.” I stride up the path and stop in front of her. I plant a kiss on her forehead and inhale deeply, filling my nose with the scent that is one-hundred-percent her. “Was just admiring your house. You’ve done so well for yourself. And it suits you so much.”
“Thank you,” she says, a timid smile pushing up her cheeks. “You coming in? Or do you plan to stand out here until we leave?”
I step past her, seeing the inside of her house in a new light. The interior isn’t overly spacious, but it is enough for her. For us. I love how easily I picture our future. Our road may have had major detours, but we are finally coming back to the path we belong on. Together.
To the right, the living room—maybe twelve square-feet—showcases the fireplace from the eastern wall with a charcoal and gray fabric couch opposite. A resin-coated wood slice coffee table rests between the two, decorated with a wide bowl of succulents. To the left is the kitchen and dining area. The kitchen is small yet vast. A large fridge at one end, the range near the other end. On the small island sitting between the kitchen and dining is a farmhouse sink and enough space for a few people to sit on stools and eat at the bar. Planked wood and riveted steel make up the dining table with four seats attached that swing underneath. Along the far wall of the dining area is her desk—a restored piece with distressed black paint and two shallow drawers. Simplistic art decorates the walls while minimal pieces adorn the furniture. With a tall vaulted ceiling, the cozy house is more spacious than it would appear from the outside.
I smile as I take it all in. There is not one part of this house that doesn’t have a piece of her in its grain or plaster or beams. Without a doubt, I would recognize this place as hers in a heartbeat. Her style screams from every nook and cranny. Her predilection for minimalism and simplicity shine from every corner, wall, and piece of décor.
“I was almost finished getting ready when I saw you outside. Give me a minute and then we can go.”
“Take all the time you need, baby. I’ll be out here waiting,” I say as I sit on the couch.
Seconds after I sit, an all-black cat jumps up beside me, purring and rubbing its head on my arm. I scratch and pet the cat as it takes a liking to me. Glad you like me because I will be around quite often.
“And that would be Luna,” Cora shares. “She’s a lover and will probably coat you in her fur before we leave. Good thing I own several lint rollers.”
I laugh as I pet Luna and she loves on me further. As I stroke her soft fur, the thought of her one day being my Luna brings a smile to my face. Since becoming a model, I have never owned a pet. As much as I wanted one, the thought of leaving a dog or cat behind for weeks on end doesn’t sit well with me. It would be unfair to them, and me, to have someone pet sit and me not spend time with them. They may not be human, but they are your children all the same.
Cora breaks my introspection when she walks back into the room. “Ready when you are. Unless you’d rather spend date night with Luna,” she says and giggles, a sound I haven’t heard in so long. I almost forgot how musical her laugh is. Almost.
Patting Luna’s backside, I whisper my apologies to her before rising from the couch. “Lead the way, baby.”
We head out the back door, get in her car and drive to dinner. A little over thirty minutes later, we pull into a small parking lot beside an Asian vegan restaurant. She leads us inside and I love it immediately. The restaurant is small and simple, low-key. Absolutely perfect.
Once we are seated, we look over the menu and choose a few appetizers as well as our meals. We talk about life and key things that have happened to us over the last thirteen years. And as awkward as it is, we discuss relationships we have had. Funny enough, neither of us has had a relationship that lasted more than a few months. Neither of us finding someone who fulfilled us in the same way we do each other. And to me, that speaks volumes.
I share with her my plan to move back after the shoot in Cali and how I will still be able to work being out here. She points out why she is skeptical it will work—not us, but me working. That I won’t have the same connections as I do now. But I beg to differ. Since I have been working in the industry for the last ten years, I have developed several contacts and am able to find work whenever and wherever I choose. And moving to Florida, I will end up discovering a whole new array of connections. Ones I would never have in California. Tampa, Orlando, and Miami are major cities picking up steam in the modeling industry.
The rest of dinner goes by seamlessly. Conversations about both of our work lives cease. We pack up our leftovers and I pay the bill. Soon thereafter, we are on our way back to her house. The drive back absent of conversation as we listen to music and enjoy the feel of our fingers laced together. And when we park in her driveway, the atmosphere between us grows heavy. With questions. With uncertainty. And most of all… desire.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Gavin
Thirteen and a half years ago
As dorky as it sounds, I can’t wait to celebrate our one-year anniversary together. Although we have been best friends for the last year and a half, we weren’t dubbed “official” until this time last year. Most people assume it is only the girl who gets excited about these moments. But I am buzzing with the thrill and ready to celebrate with the one person who means the world to me.
Brakes squeak as Cora parks in the driveway, the new-to-her Toyota a little rumbly. Her parents b
ought her the used car a couple weeks ago after she officially got her license. It has been great to be able to do our own thing, within reason, and not be subjected to our parents taking us places or annoying older friends with cars.
I run out the front door, yelling to my parents that I will be home by curfew. Swinging open the passenger door with a bit more oomph than expected, I slip into the seat, lean over the center console and kiss my girl breathless. When we come up for air, I stare at the hazy expression on her face. It is a dash of euphoria mixed with the soft lines of her angelic face. And I never tire of seeing her this way. Happy.
“You can’t do that,” she whispers, her eyes hidden behind her lids.
Leaning back into her space, my lips hover a breath from hers. “Can’t do what, baby?”
“Kiss me like that and expect me to be able to function afterward.”
I press a soft, chaste kiss to her lips. “How can I not kiss you like you hold the other half of my soul?”
Her eyes flick open, her green irises shimmering in the fading light of the day. Darting back and forth between mine, her eyes expressive in their desire to know how we could both feel the way we do. We idle in the driveway another minute, the car vibrating beneath us, as so many things are said without a single word spoken. How is it I know everything she is thinking without her even telling me?
