Page 115 of Always Meant for You
He guides me down the center row. The air grows heavier around us, steeped in heat and green.
“Close your eyes,” he murmurs.
I hesitate. “Cal . . .”
He rests his hands on my shoulders. His thumb caresses my collarbone. “Please don’t fight me on this.”
I comply, and my world narrows to this man and this moment.
I hear him move.
“Don’t leave me,” I say, half-teasing, half-afraid. “You got me to climb out of a window.”
I feel him behind me.
“I’m not leaving you. Not ever again.” His hands slide around my waist, anchoring me, his palms pressing gently into my ribs. “Open your eyes, Mabel.”
I do.
And the world changes.
The hazy light of a single bulb is gone. Strands of twinkling lights hang from the rafters, casting an ethereal glow across the space. The lavender rows fade into dusky silhouettes. He’s turned this place into a secret meant only for us.
“It’s beautiful,” I whisper.
I face him, and in the quiet that follows, I feel it, that shift.
He watches me, memorizing every detail. “I want your first time to be worthy of you.”
I spot the futon cushion tucked in the back corner, shaped into a nest of pillows and blankets. The fabric is rumpled from his hands, corners turned down, as if he’d tested it himself to make sure it felt right.
“You did all this for me?”
“I would’ve done more if I’d had time. But I figured I upset you after the way I ended things, and I had to act fast.”
I step closer and take his face in my hands. “I love what you did here. Thank you.”
He leans in, forehead resting against mine. “I didn’t mean to hurt you earlier. I wanted to get it right. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. To give you more. That’s what keeps me going. That’s my purpose. You’re my purpose, Mabel. It’s you. Everything is for you. I don’t always get it right the first time. But I’m trying.”
I nod, tears in my eyes. “I can see that.”
He draws the pad of his thumb across my bottom lip. “And now, I want to kiss you.”
The yearning in his eyes tells me he means it. Every word.
And I know how to answer.
I turn and follow the row between the blooms. My fingertips drift through the lavender, the scent clinging to my skin.
He’s behind me, letting me lead.
I stop in front of the bed and turn toward him. Holding his gaze, I reach for the zipper of my dress. My fingers tremble, but I ease it down. The fabric slips from my shoulders and glides over my skin, falling in a quiet heap at my feet.
I’m bare from the waist up, wearing only my white lace panties.
He watches me, silent and still. His gaze trails over my body, and heaven help me, I like having his eyes on me.
Then he moves.
