Page 40 of Save Us
The next moment, she flings her arms around my neck. I hug her back, pull Lydia as close to me as I can, and just hold her tight. Seconds pass, minutes, eternity.
I can’t say how long we stay in that position; all I know is that it’s the most beautiful moment in my life.
“I should have told you so long ago,” Lydia repeats after a while, leaning back a bit, but without removing her arms from around my neck.
“When did you find out?” I ask.
“November.”
I shut my eyes for a moment. “Oh, Lydia.”
“I didn’t know what to do,” she whispers, but I shake my head.
“That you were that scared of how I’d react”—I exhale raggedly—“that’s killing me.” I look her straight in the eyes. “This is the best thing that has ever happened to me.”
Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the corners of her lips lift.
I run my hand gently down her back.
“I don’t know what’s going to happen, Graham.”
“Me neither. But we’ll find out. Together,” I say. “We’ve got this.”
Lydia strokes her fingers over the back of my neck. A gentle shiver runs through me as they move forward, over my chin and the stubble on my jaw.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” she whispers. Her eyes flit to my lips, then back to meet mine. Away again. The next moment, she leans forward, very slowly. I shut my eyes and meet her halfway.
As our lips come together, it’s like a lightning strike in my stomach.
There are so many things we urgently need to discuss. But this kiss is like a promise. It means that we’re putting the past behind us. And that, in this moment, something new is beginning for us.
11
Ruby
On Saturday morning, I go downstairs as usual to help Dad prepare breakfast, but first I glance cautiously into the living room to see if James is awake. The sheet, duvet, and pillow have been neatly folded in the middle of the couch, but there’s no sign of him. I turn and walk into the kitchen, then stop in the doorway in surprise.
James is alone. He’s standing at the counter, squeezing oranges. His hair is still damp from a shower, and he’s wearing dark jeans with a white T-shirt that emphasizes his broad shoulders. I watch his arm tense as he presses half an orange onto the squeezer, and gulp hard. There’s something intimate about him standing here in our kitchen, making breakfast.
I think I could get used to the sight. Just like I could get used to spending evenings on the sofa with him, talking late into the night, like we did yesterday.
I tiptoe across the room as quietly as possible and hug James from behind, wrapping my arms around his belly. He tenses for a moment, probably startled, but then relaxes again.
“Good morning,” I whisper.
James turns to me with a crooked smile. “Good morning,” he replies, equally quietly. Then he leans down and presses his lips gently to mine. The kiss tastes of oranges, and I sigh, leaning into James until his back bumps the counter. He takes hold of my hips and pulls me closer.
His stomach feels hard against mine and I’m about to slip my hand under his shirt when I hear Dad coming into the kitchen.
James jumps away from me just as I reach out to catch myself and stumble into a jug; juice splashes out, making a small orange puddle on the surface.
“Good morning, you two,” Dad says behind me. I glance sideways at James and have to bite my lip so as not to laugh out loud. He’s standing there like a soldier, shoulders pushed back and cheeks flushed.
“I…wanted to make breakfast,” he says, pointing unnecessarily to the pool of juice.
Dad just nods. His eyes are sparkling with amusement. He knows very well how much respect James has for him and exploits it shamelessly—it’s mean, but it’s kind of funny too.
Dad drags the moment out a few seconds longer, then finally takes pity on James. “Would you both like some scrambled eggs?” he asks.
