Page 83 of Enemies to French Kisses
“Then come with me.” I stretch out my hand, trying to look confident in the gesture, but my heart is racing.
She takes it and we walk away, not another glance back up to that tiny window.
“Your hand is trembling,” she says and grips my hand tighter. She steps closer, our arms brushing as we walk.
“All of me is trembling.” My body is on fire from head to toe at the sensation of her fingers entwined with mine.
She stops and looks me straight in the eye. Every time she does it, I’m thrown off guard. There’s no fear in her, not like me who has spent decades pushing fear into the deepest recesses of my soul. I always thought being a man meant there was no place for fear, only courage and confidence.
She faces her fear head on, the way she’s facing me now.
Her eyes narrow. “You don’t actually know what you’re doing.”
I shift, my feet feeling suddenly heavy. “You say that like it’s a surprise.”
“I thought you had this all planned out.”
“If things had gone according to my plan, I would have kissed you months ago.”
“Huh?”
“Is this the part where you pretend you didn’t know I had a crush on you?”
She lets out the loudest laugh I have heard in a long time. “Well, I’ll be darned. The boy was crushing.” Her accent is thick as she says it, drawing out her vowels and making me melt even more. “That’swhy you were acting a downright fool? Well, I’ll be darned.”
We continue our walk in silence, a comfortable one. My hand grows more sure of itself, the feeling of hers in mine more natural now. I envelope her hand completely. Though she’s a strong woman, I like that I can wrap my hand around hers, wrap my arms around her, and she’s safe within them. Must be an instinctual thing, to want to protect her, even if she doesn’t need it. To know I can.
“Where are you taking me?”
“My apartment.”
“Is that a good idea?”
“This has nothing to do with me, you’re needed there. Delia hasn’t been the same since you left. And I have your sock.”
She laughs again. I could spend all night listening to that laugh.
“Anything for Delia,” she says as we make the last turn to my block.
Barely an hour later, Delia’s got her scratches, purring like a—well—cat, and I know we’re reaching the time when she has to go home. It’s the right thing to do.
But oh, how I’d love to do the wrong thing.
She stands up slower than she otherwise would. She must be feeling it too. “I should go.”
“I know.”
She doesn’t move. “Thanks for hanging onto the sock.”
“Of course.”
Still she doesn’t move.
“It’s just—” she begins, but doesn’t finish.
“I don’t want you to go. It feels like we’re only just at the beginning of something. And we don’t know what that something is yet.”
She rests her hands on my chest and my heart skips a beat as she comes closer and closer until her lips brush mine with the softest of kisses. “We’re not going to figure it out tonight.”
