Page 26 of Just Desserts in Pelican Point
We sit in the silence that follows, listening to the waves crash on the shore. It stretches. Breathes. "You don’t seem frozen now," she says eventually.
"Because of you." The words are out before I can stop them. She turns to me, eyes wide… is that fear I see? I shouldn’t be dumping all my fucked-upness on her, yet I just did. She’s too sunny, too bright for my darkness and the burdens I’ll carry for the rest of my life.
I shift, aware of how close we are. Close enough that I can smell vanilla and cinnamon in her hair mingling with my own spiraling thoughts. "You make it easy to forget that I don’t usually do this. That I don’t let people in."
She takes my hand, lacing her fingers through mine.
I glance down at our joined hands, then up at her. She’s watching me with that steady, unflinching gaze. No walls. No hesitation. Just trust.
Something in me breaks open.
I lean in, slowly, giving her time to pull away. She doesn’t. Her breath catches, and then her lips find mine.
The kiss is soft at first—tentative, reverent—but it deepens, and suddenly, I’m lost in the way she tastes, like honey and something warm I haven’t felt in a long time.
We stay like that, lips brushing, fingers laced, hearts beating in sync.
The silence between us isn't heavy. It’s peaceful.
It’s home.
* * *
We reach her front porch, and she stops by the steps. The porch light flickers, casting shadows over her face. I should say goodnight. I should walk away.
But I don’t.
Julie turns to me, one hand on the railing. "You want to come in? I still have leftover lemon bars from earlier."
"Are you bribing me with baked goods?"
She grins. "Is it working?"
I follow her inside and as the door clicks shut behind us, the air shifts.
Julie moves toward the kitchen, barefoot now, her heels abandoned by the door. She glances over her shoulder. "You want something to drink? Tea? Water?"
"You don’t have to make a fuss."
"Fussing is my love language."
She pours two glasses of water and hands me one. Her fingers linger on mine, and this time, neither of us looks away.
"Tonight was fun," she says quietly.
"Yeah. It was."
We stand in the kitchen, inches apart, the silence stretching taut between us.
"I don’t usually do this," she whispers.
"What’s ‘this’?"
She swallows. "Bring people into my space. Trust them. Want them."
My control frays and I brush a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Her breath catches, and I feel it like a spark against my skin.
“You don’t have to,” I say. “You can tell me to walk away.” She should tell me to go, but I really want to stay.
