Page 92 of Ladybirds

“Ok,” he promises, pulling away. “You too, yeah?”

Her smile is bright, free from the doubts that stain his. “I will. Goodbye, David.”

He nods, shoving his hands in his pockets as he walks past her. Sara watches him leave and is glad when he never once looks back. A sigh, tired but relieved, leaves her. Suddenly, it feels so much later than it is. She’s looking forward to finding out if Seth’s arms will find themselves around her in the night, or if he’ll give up on pretenses altogether. But when she finds him, he’s fast asleep on the couch—so still that if it weren’t for the deep rise and fall of his chest, she’d worry.

He looks so peaceful with Oma’s crocheted blanket tucked up to his chin, Sara doesn’t have the heart to wake him.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

‘Patience’ becomes a mantra.

A not-so-subtle reminder that her wishes don’t outweigh his comfort. Even if she thinks it’s insane for him to continue sleeping on the couch night after night when they’ve technically already shared her bed. The urge to tell him exactly how backwards and outdated the whole thing sounds is enough to make her jaw ache from forcing herself to stay quiet. To stay patient.

He’s still healing, she reminds herself. Still adjusting to living as someone who is part of the world instead of just a bodiless bystander. Jen and Miles have been more than welcoming—they’ve gone to see them more than a handful of times in the last few weeks—but she can tell that the whole idea of being known by more than just her still feels alien to him. She makes an effort to invite him wherever she goes, but he declines more than he accepts. It must be overwhelming, trying to navigate the changes when he’s spent centuries being invisible. The times she can see him biting back the urge to say something he would have so freely said before, when only she could hear him, are as frequent as his showers.

God, the man takes so many showers.

She was willing to overlook it before with his wounds, but they’re practically healed now and his bathing habits are still excessive. She’s giving him another week before she starts rationing his hot water.

Patience.

She stirs creamer into her coffee, watching it go from a bitter dark to soft caramel. Seth still hasn’t found a taste for it, but he’s been drinking an ungodly amount of tea. Sara’s not sure if it’s because he actually missed it or because everything he does seems to be in excess lately. Either way, she’s made a point to mix some decaf in the tea box before he turns himself into an addict.

Taking a sip, she closes her eyes and sighs. Her bare feet are tucked beneath her, and she relishes finally being able to curl up on the couch without a bulky walking boot.

Seth is sitting in his chair, an ankle crossed at his knee and looking so at home it would almost feel like old times if it weren’t for the flannel of his shirt and the book in his hand. He has the sleeves rolled up to his elbows today, the pale lines of his forearm flashing with every turning of the page. With the morning sun streaming through the window, casting soft shadows across his face, Sara struggles to tear her eyes away from him.

Of course, that’s nothing new. She finds herself watching him way more than she should, tracing the lines of his face and the shape of his mouth. She’s not the only one. When her back is turned, and he thinks she’s too busy to notice, she can feel the weight of his stare as clearly as her reaction to it—skin flushing and pulse quickening. The air between them feels thick; ripe with a temptation she’s too hesitant to take.

Besides his looks, he’s given her no indication that he wants to move forward. Hasn’t brought up their kiss or the sheets they shared. She doesn’t think he regrets it, but she does think he might need more time.

Because patience.

“You’re staring,” he says, turning the page without bothering to look up. “I don’t suppose you’re reconsidering your choices in my wardrobe?”

She doesn’t even bother entertaining his question (she’s mostly sure it was a joke anyway). “Can I photograph you?”

His eyes lift, the corner of his mouth lifting into that teasing half-smile he wears so well. “I suppose it would last longer.”

It’s permission, obviously, but instead of getting her camera she finds herself rooted; captivated by the curve of his lips and the heat it inspires. In her chest, her heart thrums—the sound echoing in her ears like the shrill screaming of cicadas in the summer.

His head tilts, smile dimming into something concerned. “Sara?”

Patience, she reminds herself, but it’s so weak it may as well be a whisper in a storm. Patience.

“Why haven’t you kissed me?” She blurts, setting her mug on the coffee table before standing. “Or did I misread something?”

Seth blinks up at her, the hand holding his book going lax. “I beg your pardon?”

“It’s been, like, a month,” she blurts. There’s a heat crawling up her neck, but she stands her ground despite the outrageously blank look he’s giving her. “So. Yeah. I—if you aren’t interested, you could at least—or if you’re needing more time to adjust—”

“Sara,” he interjects, her name rolling off his lips like champagne—soft and dizzying. “Do you mean to tell me, that you want me to kiss you?”

She hates that she can’t make sense of his expression—can’t tell if he’s eager or irritated—and it only fuels her own frustration. “Are you for real right now? Because I’ve been pretty obvious about it.”

His lips part briefly, then shut, twisting into a frown. Closing his book, his knuckles white as he grips the edges, he tries again. “I… rather thought you to be the monogamous sort?”

“I… am?” she says carefully. Then a thought strikes, and she blushes a whole new shade of red. “Wait. Are you not?!”

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