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"You are so provincial."
We stay in town for our first joint sightseeing trip, but Ballesteros has plenty of fun ways to spend an afternoon. We visit a wee museum dedicated to the town's history. I love history, of course, since I'm a student of archaeology. But I have trouble focusing on the displays. My attention keeps drifting back to Alex. He's so animated while he talks about the artifacts in glass cases, waving his hands and making the cutest expressions. I have trouble reconciling this Alex with the man who had told me our first kiss was "mediocre" and who had seemed so melancholy when he saw me speaking to another man.
Aye, he's complicated. One day I will ask him to explain his behavior, but I don't want to do that just yet. I'm loving this version of him, and asking questions might send him into another downward spiral.
I shouldn't care for him, not yet, but I do.
We spend the entire weekend together, both of us sleeping in my bed at night. On Monday morning, I wake up before Alex does and just lie here watching him sleep. Does he dream about me? I dream about him, but not in the way I'd expected. Instead of having steamy dreams about him, my nighttime fantasies involve Alex enfolding me in his arms, smiling at me, holding my hand as we take a walk together. Those dreams might be more dangerous than the erotic sort.
Alex rouses and yawns, stretching his arms above his head. "Good morning, love. Did you sleep well?"
"Very well, thank you."
He lifts an arm as an invitation to cuddle up to him, and I happily accept that offer. "I'm afraid it's back to the grindstone today. But maybe we could have lunch together."
"I have a free hour at noon."
"So do I." He kisses the top of my head. "Meet me on our bench at twelve o'clock. I'll bring the food."
We lounge in bed for a few more minutes, but then it's time to start the day. After having a shower with Alex, one that does not involve sex, I make breakfast while he teases me about feeding him pancakes instead of something Scottish. When I suggest I could make him haggis for lunch, he pretends to gag, then grins at me in the way that always makes my pulse beat faster.
We take Alex's car, which means we can park in the faculty lot instead of in the boondocks where students are allowed to park. Before he gets out of the car, we kiss. It's not a sweet kiss either, but a steamy one that leaves me feeling wonderfully warm and tingly.
Hand in hand, we amble down the concrete paths until we reach the intersection where he needs to turn left and I need to turn right. Even after we go our separate ways, we keep glancing back at each other and grinning. What is this tingly sensation I'm feeling? Why does his smile make warmth blossom in my chest? The answer is dead obvious, and it doesn't frighten me the way I'd expected it should.
Oh, aye. I'm falling for Alex Thorne.
