Page 71 of Paging Dr. Hart
“Really? You’re still hungry? We just had lunch.” I shake my head, amazed at the capacity of his stomach.
He grins crookedly. “Don’t you know that there are two stomachs, Tiffy? One for regular food and another for dessert?”
I’m trying, and failing, to suppress my smile. “Hmm…weird. I don’t remember learning that in anatomy class.”
“It’s a fact. Just ask any eight-year-old.” Ethan angles off toward the gelato shop, walking quickly.
“You’re admitting to your immaturity? Identifying with eight-year-olds.” I follow him into the line of people waiting for the icy Italian treats.
“I admit to nothing,” he says, smirking.
We read the menu, debating about what we should get. I tell him, “My mom used to make home-made cannoli. It was delicious. Totally spoiled me. I don’t even bother trying it anywhere else. Nothing will be as good as hers.”
“That sounds amazing,” says Ethan. In unison, we step forward in the line. “Was she a good cook?”
“The best. Made pasta from scratch. Cooked her own marinara. I don’t know where she learned it, but Italian was her favorite.” It comes back to me, the bubbling pot on the stove. The smell of oregano and sauteed tomatoes. How that aroma would fill our entire apartment and waft down the stairs. Shelly would inevitably knock on our door when she smelled it, on the hunt for a rare home-cooked meal.
We reach the front of the line, and I get a single scoop of vanilla, which earns me an eye roll from Ethan and some mumbling about how my taste buds are “boring.” He chooses the Coppa Amarena, a concoction of vanilla and cherry gelato topped with amaretto cookies, whipped cream, and chocolate shavings. Even I admit it looks delicious.
We carry our gelato over an arching bridge to a small pier that juts out into the lake. Colorful striped poles rise out of the water. An authentic-looking black-lacquered Venetian gondola is docked before us. It’s just like pictures of Italy that I’ve seen in books and magazines.
Ethan and I sit on a bench with our backs to the main walkway. He stretches his legs out, rubs his right knee, and then crosses his ankles.
“You okay with all this walking?” I slowly lick the sweet vanilla gelato off the back of my spoon.
“It’s fine.” He lets out a contented sigh and leans back, slanting his face up to the sky as the breeze teases his hair, ruffling it like a lover’s fingers.
It’s peaceful where we sit, surrounded by the lake on three sides. Small wavelets stirred by the wind ripple across the blue-gray surface. A snowy white bird with a curved beak, an ibis I think, comes to perch on the metal railing. Ethan tosses up a piece of his cookie, which the bird catches in midair. With a whoosh of wings, it takes off to enjoy the snack.
Storm clouds slowly gather overhead. The wind has picked up, and even in Ethan’s jacket I shiver. He notices and slides closer. He hesitates, then puts his arm around me and pulls me tight against his side.
We keep ending up like this, I think, touching one another. It’s like we’re magnets getting pulled together over and over. I allow my head to lean backon Ethan’s warm shoulder. He shifts into a more comfortable position as I ease myself against him.
“This feels nice,” I tell him. It’s a dangerous thing to say. To admit that all this looking and touching hasn’t been by accident.
“It does,” Ethan murmurs against my hair, sending a shiver through my body that has nothing to do with the cold. “Youfeel nice.” His breath is hot across my scalp. His hand rubs up and down my arm, chaffing it, trying to warm me.
“You too,” I whisper back, glad he can’t see my face right now. My stomach tightens, and there’s a tingling growing deep within my belly. It’s absurd. If this little bit of contact makes me aroused, what would it be like to kiss him?
I lift my head from his shoulder to find him staring into my eyes. We’re inches apart. Ethan watches intently as I push closer, rising slightly off the bench to meet his height. I close the distance between us. He holds absolutely still, like he’s afraid to break a spell.
I kiss him.
It’s a soft kiss, gentle and yielding. Ethan’s lips are silken, and his mouth is sweet from the gelato. I sense he’s holding back, letting me take the lead like he doesn’t want to scare me off.
I’m not scared, though. I’m awash with desire. It burns through any remaining trepidation, leaving my insecurities in ashes. More confident now, I kiss him harder. His mouth falls open with a sigh, and I sweep my tongue in to meet his.
The contact is electric, a shot of adrenaline straight to my core, warmth pooling between my legs. I wrap my arms tightly around the back of his neck and turn to him fully, getting as close as I can.
Ethan’s restraint slips. His hands rise to tangle in my hair, fingers kneading the tender skin behind my ear and at the base of my head. Then his right hand runs lightly down along my jaw. He takes my chin and lifts it, angling my mouth to deepen our kiss. It’s so delicious that a soft moan escapes my parted lips. The sound of it wakes me out of the lust-induced stupor I’ve slipped into.
“Oh.” I pull away, my hand coming up to touch my kiss-swollen lips.Wide-eyed, I stare at Ethan, who looks back cautiously. When I let out a low laugh and drop my hand to settle on his shoulder, a relieved smile spreads across his face. He must have been worried about my reaction.
Blinking, I take a couple of slow breaths of air. I’m trying to get my heart rate under control, to marshal the desire that still dominates my body. “Sorry,” I say and shake my head ruefully. “I didn’t mean to make out with you in the middle of Disney World.”
Ethan lets out a shaky laugh. “Trust me, Tiffy, you have no reason to apologize. You can kiss me anywhere, anytime.”
He’s having a hard time catching his breath as well, I note with some satisfaction. At least I wasn’t the only one stirred up.
