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She makes a face and takes my plate from me. “My dad rarely ever let me use the dishwasher. He said it was the lazy man’s way out. Besides, I didn’t help with cooking, it’s only fair that I help clean up.”
“Lucy, I made sandwiches. That’s not exactly cooking. It’s one pan and two plates.”
“All the more reason to just go ahead and wash them,” she points out.
“Alright, fine.” I sigh. “You wash, I’ll dry.”
“Deal.” She hands me a cloth and I grin at her.
I’m hit with the simple domestication again. The quiet simplicity of standing beside someone, doing something as mundane as washing and drying dishes. I look over at her and she’s watching me out of the corner of her eye, a small smile on her perfectly pink lips.
“What’re you smiling about?” I ask, bumping my hip against hers.
She looks at the spray head on the sink quickly and pulls her bottom lip in under her teeth.
“What are you thinking about, Lucy?” I press, my voice low.
She reaches for the small pan I used to cook the bacon in and then reaches for the spray head.
“Not much.” She shrugs absently, spraying the pan.
“Lucy . . .”
She turns the spray head away from the pan and towards me, unable to control her laughter. I let out a very unmanly yelp before narrowing my eyes at her, shaking my head.
“You”—I point a finger at her—“have no idea what you’ve just started.”
She lets out a mix of a laugh and a yelp as I lunge at her, trying to pry the spray head from her fingers. She doesn’t give in as quickly as I thought she would, so I snake one arm around her waist and pinch the skin just above her hip, and she shrieks. I laugh and put my hand over hers on the spray head while my other hand tickles her side. She finally lets go of the spray head and I put it back in its spot on the sink.
We stand there, me, barely breathing and Lucy breathing entirely too fast. Slowly, she turns to face me. Somehow my other arm has found its way to her and both arms are loosely wrapped around her waist. She’s looking intently at my face, but her arms stay at her side. My gaze slides down from her impossibly green eyes to those perfect, full lips. I feel my breath catch in my throat, and I know she can tell. She leans forward slightly, just enough to press her forehead to mine.
“Stunning,” I whisper.
“What?”
“You’re stunning. Absolutely stunning.”
Then her lips are on mine, and I forget everything except her. Kissing her feels like healing, and the feel of her in my arms is like coming home. Her hand is in my hair and I want to stay here, just like this, for the rest of my life.
But I can’t.
I pull away slowly, slow enough to watch her eyes flutter open and a smile just begins to form on her lips before she sees my face.
“What’s wrong?” she asks softly. “Did I . . . I didn’t mean to rush anything. I’m sorry.”
I take her face in my hands and rub my thumbs along the tops of her cheekbones, shaking my head at her.
“No, no it’s not that. It’s just, I don’t want to hurt you, Lucy.”
There’s a fire in her eyes when she looks at me, and it’s enough to make my knees feel weak.
“That’s not up to you. I’m not yours to break,” she says quietly, but firmly. “You don’t get to decide that, Wyatt. I do.”
I kiss her forehead and take a step back, running my hand through my hair.
“I want to do things right this time. I’m doing a lot better, Lucy. I feel a lot better, more like me. Like the man I want to be, but that doesn’t mean I’m not still grieving. It doesn’t mean I’m not still a little broken inside.”
She sighs heavily, frustrated. “And you think I’m not, Wyatt? I don’t think we’ll ever be done grieving, I don’t think that’s possible. Just like I think a few of our pieces will always be cracked and taped together. But I am tired of grieving and breaking alone.”
