Page 101 of The Weight Of Falling
He presses his mouth to my temple. “You can trust it.”
Trying to lighten the moment, I say, “You’re very romantic about photographs.”
“I’m very romantic about you.”
I smile and playfully bump his arm, but I’m a little too enthusiastic and clearly underestimate my strength. Joel is relaxed and unprepared, and when I nudge him, he tumbles off his chair and falls to the deck.
My hand flies to my mouth. “Oh, gosh, I’m so sorry! I can’t believe I did that!”
He doesn’t move at first, just lets out a small groan.
I jump up and hurry to him. “Are you hurt?” Guilt floods me. I’ve never pushed anyone before. I feel like the world’s clumsiest bully.
He groans again. “Can you help me up?”
“Of course.”
I offer my hand. He grips it and I brace myself to pull him up. Instead, he gives a quick tug. I yelp and topple forward, landing on him, his body cushioning my fall.
A grin breaks out across his face. “The lengths I’ll go to make sure you’re on top,” he murmurs, and I laugh.
Stretched out over him, I take in his handsome face, the dark eyes I can get lost in, the tiny creases at the corners that hint at rare smiles, and the two-day stubble I’m a hopeless sucker for. He’s all strength and muscle and fierce heat, and I let the wonderful reality of him seep into me.
“So devious,” I say softly.
My hair falls like a curtain around us, blocking out the world and screening us in our own private bubble. Heat rises under my skin the way it does when a storm is still far away but the air has changed. We hold each other’s gaze for a long moment.
“One day you’ll tell me the full story of your scar,” I whisper.
“One day,” he says after a moment. “But not today.”
His hand lifts to palm the back of my head, and he tugs me down gently toward him. His lips brush mine, impossibly softand warm. He coaxes me closer, parting my lips, and the skillful sweep of his tongue meets mine.
I let out a moan and he responds instantly, threading his fingers through my hair and tilting my head for a deeper angle. He slants his mouth over mine and deepens the kiss, unerringly discovering all my sensitive places.
He tastes of mint and coffee and complications. It’s my new favorite taste.
When I lift my head, his smile lingers against my mouth. “You make me happy,” he says simply.
Love for him swells in my chest. I want to say something profound and meaningful, but sometimes all that’s needed is the truth. “You make me happy too.”
I stare into his eyes. They feel like his handwriting—messy, honest, and mine to try to read.
I kiss him again.
I want to live inside this boneless, dreamy afternoon. To pattern the rest of our life on days like this: unhurried moments, stolen glances, quiet smiles. And the deep contentment of being with the person who fits the shape of your soul.
41
I don’t usually come to this side of town. It’s out of my way, but a client requested an urgent hand delivery, and even though it’s Saturday, I offered. With the windows down and the music up, the drive feels like the reset I need after a full-on week. After dropping off the package, I head to Aysha’s coffee shop. Its coffee has a reputation for being the best in Brown Oaks, and while the pastries may not rival Beth’s Bakery, I’ve heard they’re close enough to merit a taste.
After I place my order, I glance around. Light wood and greenery give the space a slightly rustic feel. Then I spot Joel at a table in the back. Delight tumbles through me. Serendipity at work again.
But when Joel sees me, he doesn’t look happy. Surprise shifts to unease, before he schools his face into neutrality. It’s clear I’m the last person he expected to see here.
Two other people are sitting with him. A man and a woman who look to be in their sixties. I give Joel a small, awkward wave and decide to bolt as soon as my coffee is ready. Only they catch him looking at me and nowthey’relooking at me, curiosity plain on their faces. It feels rude to slip out without a hello, so I collect my coffee and walk over to the table.
“Hi, Joel.”
