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SIXTEEN
TRISHA
The realizationthat Blaze had followed me, leaving his family behind on Christmas Day to find me, was both startling and touching. His presence in the parking lot of my dad’s building was unexpected. Despite the whirlwind of emotions inside me, I needed to hear him out. I couldn’t ignore his determination.
As Blaze poured out his feelings, confessing his desire for more than just a fleeting connection, I found myself hanging on every word. It wasn’t just the surprise of his confession that held me captive; it was the earnest hope in his eyes, a reflection of the hope that had been quietly growing in my heart.
When he finished, the silence between us was thick with anticipation. He didn’t move closer, respecting the space between us, giving me time to process, to respond.
The words tumbled out of me almost of their own accord. “I feel the same way,” I admitted, my voice thick with emotion. “I don’t want this to end either.”
Our bodies collided, one moment separate, the next entwined. I couldn’t say whose movement started our contact - it seemed instinctive, inevitable. We stood there, my breath catching as his hands wove themselves into my hair. Then his lips met mine, a sensuous pressure that sent shivers down my spine.
His kiss deepened, his tongue tracing along my lower lip before slipping inside my mouth. My response was immediate, hungry even, my tongue meeting his halfway. The taste of him was exhilarating, a heady mix of coffee and something uniquely Blaze.
My arms snaked around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer until our bodies aligned perfectly against each other. Any remaining distance between us disappeared, leaving no room for air, only heat. It felt natural, as if we had always belonged together like this. And maybe we did. Maybe we always would.
I’d completely forgotten that we were standing in a parking lot, in full view of anyone who happened to be around, until someone cleared their throat.
Dad.
Shit.
Flustered and caught in an unexpected lip lock with Blaze, I felt a mix of mortification and merriment under my dad’s eagle eye. “Merry Christmas, Dad,” I squeezed out, trying to keep my composure.
Blaze’s response to my father’s appearance was practically comical, a cocktail of shock and unease. “Oh, um, hello, er, Mr. Easton,” he fumbled. His cheeks turned a delightful shade of crimson, which made me want to giggle, but I somehow restrained myself.
Dad, ever the easygoing type, extended a handshake. “Call me Matthew. You must be the young man who braved the Chicago drive with my daughter.”
“Yes, sir. Blaze Gracen,” Blaze replied, his handshake firm despite the earlier fluster.
Dad’s warmth and casual demeanor seemed to put Blaze a bit more at ease. “Why don’t you come inside?” he offered.
Blaze hesitated, not wanting to intrude, but Dad insisted. “It’s no intrusion. We’d be glad to have you.”
The familiarity of my dad’s apartment building washed over me as we approached the entrance. I’d called this place home for years before moving to New York. The big city never felt quite like home to me, but maybe Baltimore will feel more like it than the bustling streets of Manhattan.
We reached my dad’s door, and as we walked inside, the jumble of thoughts about my new job and relocation plans buzzed at the edge of my consciousness. I wanted to tell Dad my big plans for us, but now wasn’t the time. We’d lost enough days to the holiday chaos, and now Blaze had become an unexpected addition to our reunion.
I excused myself to head to my old bedroom. It was strange to see it transformed into a guest room, its walls stripped of posters and shelves cleared of childhood knick-knacks.
Dropping my bag on the small bed, I paused for a moment. The space felt so different now—but not entirely foreign. My eyes flickered to Blaze, who stood at the threshold, looking slightly out of place amid the frills and lace that still adorned some corners of the room.
A rogue thought flitted through my mind—Blaze sharing this bed with me—sparking a fluttering in my stomach. It was a tantalizing notion, anticipation mixed with excitement at what might happen if we gave in to our desires in this small sanctuary from my past.
Shaking off those thoughts as quickly as they came, I turned to him with a determined smile.
“Let’s go hang out with Dad,” I said.
Rejoining Dad in the living room, I hovered in the doorway, leaning against the frame as Dad launched into a story from my childhood.
“...and there was Trisha, not even five years old, reading the newspaper cover to cover. I knew then she was destined for great things,” Dad finished, beaming with pride.
Blaze grinned back at him. “I can certainly see that. She’s got quite the sharp mind.”
I rolled my eyes playfully. “Don’t let him fool you. I wasn’t reading the newspaper back then. Just looking at the pictures.”
Dad chuckled. “Maybe so, but you picked up reading faster than any other kid I knew.” He turned to Blaze. “You’ll have to stay for dinner. I want to hear all about this cross-country adventure you two had.”
