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The gruff agent who stomped my plea for help is only tender. Gentle and entreating, all while giving. Support. Affection
Joy.
My soul thaws, melting away the pain, the memories. None withstand John’s warmth.
His fingertips hover over my throat, which begs for his touch. I slip my hand to his nape, pressing. Closer is better.
The kiss rolls on, as does my silent plea.Don’t stop. Don’tend. If the kiss goes away, John might too, and I can’t do on-my-own any longer. Truly, alone is ruined for me forever.
As his hands work the waves of my hair and his lips play against mine, I wallow in contentment. He deepens the kiss in ways I’ve only imagined. I feel myself sinking, but in a good way, ready to let myself fall.
He pries away, fervor two-stepping with uncertainty in his near-onyx eyes. His breaths heavy, he presses his forehead to mine. “I hardly know what to say.”
I press back, melding my brow with his. “Don’t say anything.” I close my eyes, warm for the first time in days.
For a blissful moment, he doesn’t.
A brush of his lips across my cheek puts a period to the interlude. Cool air rushes around me.
His throat scratches. “That was…different.”
“Did I do something wrong?” Leave it to me to mess up a simple kiss.
He slants me a look. “Wrong how?”
I’m not saying it. I’m not saying that he’s the first man I’ve kissed. And it felt perfect to me. I shake my head. “Nothing.”
There’s a long pause. “I must admit, I am surprised.”
Can I curl up and die? I ball my hands in the folds of my favorite sweatshirt. “I’m sorry.”
He sort of laughs. “I said surprised, Hollie, not unhappy.”
As I dare a glance, a buzzing emanates from his coat pocket. He reaches in and silences the vibration. “You weren’t so pleased with me the last time we talked.” One of his eyebrows arrows up.
Oh, right.
An encore of tears threaten—until the playfulness around the corners of his mouth sinks in. Not that I know what to make of humor, either.
A firm hand wraps around my clenched fist. “Relax, Hollie.” His other hand rises, and I lean into the skim of his fingers along my cheek.
“Listen, about me not telling you about the pregnancy—”
I shake my head. “It’s alright.”
“I want you to know I didn’t lie. I stumbled onto the information, and Jacob begged me for time. I would have told you if he hadn’t.”
Gnawing a fleck of skin on my chapped lip, I gaze past John, at Jacob’s kindergarten portrait on the wall.
“I wanted Jacob to have the opportunity to tell you himself.”
“And you were right.” Me, I’m just a screwup who can’t get her act together.
John draws back. “I was?”
“Yes. I see that now.” I scrape my thumbnail across the shredded cuticle on the other side. “Besides, I can hardly hold what you did against you when I’m guilty of the same thing.” And much worse.
He’s quiet, his clever silence coaxing me onward.
