Page 81 of I Knew He Was Trouble
“What’s this called? A crumble seat?”
“No, arumbleseat. It’s also sometimes called a dickey seat or mother-in-law seat.”
She snickers. “Now, with a name like that, they’re just begging for people to make jokes.”
“I’d love to have my mother-in-law sit there during the middle of a downpour.” Aunt D’s laughter floats through the air. “Too bad she’s long gone.”
“Why are they called that?” Hank mutters.
I rub my hand along the rumble seat. “They got the term from horse-drawn carriages where servants or guards would typically occupy that seat. But once car ownership extended to more of the general population, they moved the extra seats to the car’s interior for comfort.”
“Huh.” He grunts, his mouth pulling into a frown. “There’s too much orange peel on this paint. Whoever did this paint job must’ve been blind as a bat.”
I’ve been thinking the same thing, though I’d never say as much out loud. You can always trust the elderly and children to tell you how it really is.
The rest of the car show goes smoothly, except for the fact that I learned Aunt Darla had her first kiss in a Corvette that looked just like the one present today. I could’ve gone my whole life without knowing that information and been just fine. But it was nice to talk about the different engines with some of the residents.
I talk to the owner of the ’53 Five-Window Chevrolet when he comes to take his car home. Once I’ve told him about the man who’d love to ride in one again, he immediately agrees to take him on a joy ride as long as Sunrise Springs okays it.
I search for Kelsey once all the residents are back inside and find her in the lobby. After she finishes talking with the man that I assume is her boss, she waves me over.
“You didn’t have to stick around this long.” She doesn’t sound mad, exactly, just confused. Like the very thought of someone actually being there for her when she needs it most is a mind-boggling concept. “I feel bad that I’ve taken up a good chunk of your day when you could’ve been spending time with Evie.”
“That’s what happens when people care about you.” I hesitantly step toward her like she’s a stray dog that will bolt if I move too quickly.
Kelsey takes my hand in hers, intertwining our fingers. “I don’t know what to say.” She looks both ways down the hall. When she deems the coast is clear, she opens the door closest to us and yanks me into the room with her.
I stumble into the space, my breath stuck in my throat. Kelsey presses up against me as she flicks the light switch on, coating the tiny space in a warm glow.
“Why are we in a—” I look around us, laughing as I take in the shelves of cleaning supplies. Something stabs me in the back, and I wince. Thank you, Mr. Wooden Broomstick, for letting me know you’re there. “Broom closet?”
“You told me if you kissed me, it would be because it’s real.” She tilts her head back. Her pupils are dilated, and her gaze is fixated on my lips. “Did you mean that?”
“You should know that I’m a gentleman. I don’t typically kiss ladies in broom closets in independent and assisted living communities.” I fist her olive-green sweater at her hips, pulling her flush against me. Kelsey gasps, and my lips twitch in a satisfied smile. “But I guess I can make an exception today.”
I offer a beat of hesitation for her to push me away. Tell me this isn’t what she wants.
She arches into my touch and whispers my name. “Tyler.”
It’s only two simple syllables, but I’ve never heard my name said that way—filled with want and need. Like she might explode if I don’t kiss her right this minute. I want to hear her say myname that way over and over again, but for now, there’s a much more pressing want coursing through my body. The sound of my name spoken softly from her lips is the green light I need.
My lips crash into hers. A soft moan escapes her, and I swallow it up with another kiss. Her lips are just as soft as I imagined and warm despite all the time we spent outside in the fall air.
While Kelsey isn’t short by any means, she’s tiny in comparison to me. If I’m going to kiss her like I want to—like I’ve been waiting weeks for—I need a better angle. I move my hands from her lower back down to her thighs, scooping her up.
Kelsey gasps, breathless. “What are you doing?”
I carry her a few feet back and set her on the countertop that I assume is some kind of cleaning cabinet. Right now, it’s the perfect spot to thoroughly kiss the woman I haven’t been able to stop thinking about. “Getting a better position so I can kiss you like you deserve.”
Kelsey’s cheeks flush strawberry pink, and I brush a soft kiss on each spot before covering her lips with mine again. Each press of my lips is desperate, wanting to explore every bit of her. Never wanting this moment to end.
She tastes as sweet as her maple latte, and I can’t get enough of her. My hands explore her lower back while hers run along my arms and shoulders, up to my neck. This is the kind of feeling I’ve been chasing my whole life. We just click. There surely isn’t a shortage of chemistry between us. And the way we move together, it just feels…right.
Our movements turn frenzied, like we’re unsure if we’ll get to experience this again beyond this moment, so we’re enjoying it while it lasts. I kiss her until we’re breathing as one, until I can’t tell which breaths are mine or hers.
All the years of frustration and misunderstanding between us melt away in the roaring inferno our heated kiss nurtured to life—the sparks that had been patiently waiting all along ignited by the fuel of passion.
Whatever held us back or stood between us before is long forgotten amid our embrace.
