Page 48 of You Rock My World
He grabs another mini pretzel. “Should’ve known food was my best way to here.” Dorian pokes a finger over my heart. The touch is brief, gentle, barely there… but it prompts shortness of breath and palpitations. Either I’m having a cardiac arrest, or he doesn’t need any food to get into my heart. He’s already lodged in like a stubborn fragment of glass. Every glance, every touch cutting deeper, hurting sweeter.
“Food is the way to anyone’s heart.” I attempt to sound like his hand on me didn’t almost make me collapse.
“Is that so? I always thought the way to a woman’s heart was something more complicated. Like poetry or, I don’t know, writinga love song?” He arches a seductive eyebrow at me.
“Are you only listing things you excel at?”
He drags his teeth over his lower lip, sucking it in while shooting me a playful, heated side look. “I thought muscles and tattoos were my best flex.”
And as much as I want to tease him back, this time, I don’t. “Except they’re not.”
“No?”
“I love the smudges of ink on your fingers after you write lyrics more than I love your abs.” I drop my gaze to his waistband. “Which is saying something because that is a pretty perfect six-pack. And I love the absorbed look in your eyes when you’re creating. The best parts of you are the ones you don’t let everyone see. How you notice the little things, like when I need a hug but I can’t talk about what’s making me cry.”
The playful spark in his eyes dims, replaced by something more contemplative. I carry on.
“And how you remember the stupid details I tell you, like my secret dream of being an extra in a movie that you made come true. Those are the parts that matter.”
Dorian’s eyes darken at my words and his throat bobs, but he doesn’t acknowledge what I said. Instead, he says, “Have dinner with me tonight. I’d like you all to myself for one evening.”
“Meeting the family was too much last night?”
Dorian shakes his head. “Not at all. I just want more silly things to remember. Learn more of your dreams to make come true. I want in here.” He pats my chest again, unaware that his hand is the flint and my heart the steel that strikes against it. “I’m greedy,” he confesses, “for every piece of you, the shy smiles and the cutting comebacks. You were the only person able to pull a laugh out of me when I thought I had none left. I want to be with youalways. I want to be at your family dinners, and I want your solo nights. I want everything, Josie.”
Another word and I’ll give it to him. Even what I don’t have.
“You know there are less intense ways to ask a gal to dinner.”
Dorian throws his head back and laughs. “Right, I shouldn’t take myself too seriously.”
But as he looks at me it’s clear he’s still waiting for an answer.
I hesitate, my expression apologetic as I explain, “I can’t tonight. I’m watching Penny while Lily works a night shift at the hospital.”
“Can I have tomorrow night, then?”
I agree, relieved that he’s not put off by my responsibilities. “Tomorrow is perfect.”
Just then, Dorian is called back to rehearsal. He walks on stage while I return to the empty first row.
And as Dorian takes his place behind the microphone once more, I brace for my soul to get a little more scorched.
27
DORIAN
I stand in the stillness of my kitchen, waiting for her. The staff have been dismissed for the evening. Everything is ready. I check my watch again. She’s not late, but the anticipation gnaws at me.
I walk to the French doors leading to the back patio and pull them open, welcoming the gentle breeze that rustles my hair. The table is set, understated but elegant. The appetizers arranged with care. I considered lighting a hundred candles, but in the end, decided to keep it simple. I don’t want to overwhelm Josie.
The fairy lights strung above twinkle like distant stars.They’re enough, I tell myself. I straighten a fork, making sure everything is perfect. Even if perfection isn’t what she’s after. It’s not what I’m looking for, either. I tilt the fork back at the previous weird angle.
Before I move more stuff that doesn’t need readjusting, I return to the kitchen and lean against the counter, arms crossed. Checking my watch again, I fight the urge to pace as the minutes crawl by with agonizing slowness until finally, security alerts me my guest has arrived.
I practically skip to the other side of the house, drying my palms against my jeans. One last inhale, and I swing the door open.
Josie shifts shyly under the warm porch light, stealing the ability to speak from me. She’s breathtaking. Her hair is in her favorite style, half up with loose waves cascading over her shoulders, and she’s wearing a simple white dress that cinches at the waist, falling above her knees. The fabric sways in the breeze, held up only by maddeningly thin straps. I’m transfixed.
