Page 23 of Bows & Eros
Butit was also over.
Thank goodness.
"Will you stay a little longer?" Ethan asked me in a whisper, his knuckles sliding over the back of my hand. "I can put on a kettle of tea."
I felt my heart melting, dripping like warm candle wax down the sides of my body. "That sounds absolutely perfect."
He had taken off the brown and turquoise sweater in favor of a wrinkled tee shirt that still managed to contour to his build in a pleasing way.
Privately, and more than a little endearingly, I thought that if I'd had this man on my gift list in December, I would have gotten him an iron.
He washed the chocolate from the three mugs while the water heated, moving in comfortable quiet around his kitchen while I sat on a barstool with my chin in my hands. He chose orange- and cinnamon-scented tea for us, carefully placing each bag in its designated mug while he waited for the kettle to whistle.
It was all so familiar, this ritual, but I could not tear my eyes away from him. I felt like I had never seen this man properly before today, had never really looked directly at him. Now that I had, I wasn't sure anything else in all the world was worthy of my attention.
Was that the paper airplane talking, or had I begun to feel this way before the diner? I had kissed him at the church in a moment of spontaneous gratitude and awe, a hard, swift peck of the lips that was more about communication than romance. But it had happened, and I had never kissed anyone on the lips like that unless I was already feeling attraction.
He poured the water into the cups, its gentle, musical tinkle filling the air, and within seconds I could smell cinnamon and orange and a hint of vanilla too. It smelled like winter, I thought. It smelled sweet and welcoming and perfect in the aftermath of chilly winds and chasing dread, and like most good things, it would be a moment before it was just right for consumption.
"I owe you a great deal of thanks," Ethan said from across the little island that centered the kitchen. "I don't even know where to begin to thank you. Today has been ... illuminating. In many ways."
"Don't thank me," I said, shaking my head. "There was no strategy or careful planning involved in anything I did today. And it was you who had the solution to the angry mob at the church, remember?"
"Ah, yeah, I am proud of that," he confessed, flashing me a smile that made my insides sparkle. "I've always wanted to pull a fire alarm."
"Well, today was about making dreams come true," I replied seriously, which got a laugh out of him. "I have something to confess, actually. I wasn't sure if I should tell you. I'm still not sure if I should ..."
"With that introduction, now you have to," he answered, his brows rising. "I promise not to judge you too harshly."
I held up a finger to him and pushed myself off the stool, ducking into the living room to get my handbag. I sat back down and unzipped it, reaching inside to retrieve the pink flyer that had been folded into an airplane on the booth seat I'd occupied at the diner. It was crumpled, but still held enough shape for there to be no question as to what it had been.
I set it on the counter between us and grimaced.
"I sat on it," I said carefully, "at the diner."
"Oh." His eyes had gone wide, but he didn't reach forward to touch it or otherwise inspect it on the cabinet between us. He just stared at it warily, and repeated, "Oh."
"Right."
"Well, did it ... do anything to you?" he asked uncertainly, tilting those blue eyes up to meet mine. "Do you feel any different?"
"I ... I don't know," I confessed, taking up my cup of tea just to have something to occupy myself with. "I don't know."
"Well, who ... uh ..." He trailed off, pressing his lips together to suppress what I suspected was laughter as I shot him an impatient, deadpan look. He held his hands up in apology. "I didn't want to assume."
I blinked at him, sarcasm likely written large on my face. "Oh no? You didn't?"
He touched his tongue to his teeth, considering me in a way that warmed me significantly faster than any cup of tea. "I didn't want to hope," he clarified, his voice now deeper, softer.
It made me shiver, little pinpricks of heightened sensation dancing over my skin. "Hope?" I prompted needlessly, blinking at him.
"Definitely hope," he confirmed, leaning toward me. "I've been wondering what it might take to win you over. When the day started, you were pretty decidedly unimpressed with me."
I blushed, an embarrassed little laugh escaping me. "I was overly harsh."
"Maybe," he agreed lightly, reaching for my hands, his fingertips sliding over my skin, "but it did wake me up. All day has felt like I've finally had my eyes open after such a long time drowsing through, almost in a daze. I'm grateful, on many levels."
Our fingers twined around one another, testing the sensation of it, the warmth and chemical buzz that ignited when we touched. It was hypnotizing to watch, so unexpected and indulgent. When I lifted my eyes to meet his, they were already locked on my face, intent and full of heat.
