Page 81 of The Last Kind of Kiss
RIDE A HOCKEY PLAYER, RIDE A…HOT AIR BALLOON?
LILA
“Bristol Brenner, I amneverforgiving you for this!” I shout over the howling wind, gripping Bristol like I’m determined to break every bone in his hockey-winning arm.
His voice—preserved in sweet, thick molasses—dissolves the thread of panic inside me, though not by much.
“We’re only a few feet up in the air,” he says, the rumblings of a chuckle lost to the hot air balloon’s crackling burner, and further undermined by the turbulence shaking the basket underneath my feet.
“We arenotjust a few feet up in the air!”
Temecula’s Wine Country—a landmark of California’s rolling, lush hills—is an unbroken sea of vineyards and million-dollar estates, where swaths of barren land outline rows upon rows of grape-bearing vines. The heart of viticulture—dunked in a sparkling sunrise and dry-brushed with blooms of sorbet-orange—comes to life as we ascend twenty more feet into the air, the hard-boiled yolk of the sun drenching me in a motley of effervescent color. It would be beautiful up here…if it wasn’t for myparty-crashing nerves convincing me that I’ll fall to my death at any wrong bump.
Bristol’s arms tighten around me in a protective embrace, and a shiver accordions down my spine from his touch.
“You said you weren’t afraid of heights,” he murmurs under his breath.
“I thought you were talking about roller coasters, not going seventy feet up in the air in a hot air balloon!”
Our pilot whistles awkwardly and averts eye contact as I embark on the freakout of the century. Heights don’t bother me, but crashing to the ground at hyper speed and going up in flames?Thatbothers me.
My heart’s a mallet swinging incessantly against my ribs. “Oh, God. I just saw the ground. Yep. It’s really far down. That would…” I gulp, nausea outlasting the desire to choke my boyfriend if we ever make it safely back to earth. “That would be a long drop.”
With my head nestled into Bristol’s shoulder, I feel his hand make a slow journey over the ridge of my clavicle and up the steep hill of my throat, where he hooks his fingers underneath my chin to tip it up. “I’m sorry. I wanted it to be a surprise. I didn’t know this would be so scary for you.”
That single, reassuring look has butterflies cartwheeling in my belly, and the tepid warmth in my cheeks isn’t due to the sun toasting my face. A disjointed breath breaks past my lips. “No, I…I love it. I’m just a big baby.”
“First off, you’remybig baby. And second off, you’re not. Not at all. You’re handling this a lot better than I am.”
Hehasto be lying right now.
“What are you talking about?”
“Having you in my arms right now is the only thing keeping me calm,” he admits, and suddenly, some of my fear begins tophase into the background, much like how our landing site has shrunken into the scenic aggregations of family-run wineries.
“Seriously?” I ask.
He endears me with a tilt of his head, his wind-tousled hair flopping partially into those deep brown eyes of his. “Seriously. This is the first time I’ve ever been up this high, but I wanted to do something grand for you where we couldn’t be followed by flashing cameras. A date where it could be justus. A hot air balloon ride was more of an…out-there…choice, but it’s given me an excuse to hold you, so I can’t be mad about that.”
His touch is featherlight, yet his arms remain sturdy, and the tranquility that radiates off him flowers throughout my entire body. For the first time in fifteen minutes, I still the tremors, catch my breath, and slowly inch toward the edge to get a glimpse of the beautiful rural area handpicked by my boyfriend. I’ve never been to Wine Country, much less observed it up in the air. Bristol went above and beyond to make me feel special, and he has, elevation be damned.
“Thank you, Bristol. It really is beautiful,” I whisper in awe, peering over the mountain crests—a jagged maw that swallows the morning sky. “I never knew how big these vineyards were.”
Bristol mirrors my line of sight, though I don’t miss the love-drunk glances he steals here and there, as if he’s distracted by me (of all things) when we’re over what’s arguably the most stunning tourist attraction in all of California.
“Yeah, they’re almost as beautiful as you.Almost.”
I humor him. “You’re just saying that because I’m your girlfriend.”
My hair lashes against my face, goose bumps ignite over my bare arms, and my nose feels red from the frosty chill. With the turbulence easing up and the wind settling down, I don’t have to strain my voice anymore to yell, which also means that a whispered confession is as loud as a landmine in my ears.
“No, Lila. I’m not saying it because you’re my girlfriend. I’m saying it because you’re so much more than that. You’re my angel. You’re the only person who’s been able to save me.”
Save him.Wow. I never knew he thought about me like that. My nickname makes so much sense now, and tears are about to turn my cheeks into a fully functioning Slip n’ Slide. Oh, no. I can’t cry in front of this poor pilot who I’ve already subjected to a disturbing plethora of curses at six in the morning.
Bristol runs a thumb along my lash line. “Did you know that your eyes change colors?”
“You stare at my eyes often?”
