Page 41 of Rare Blend
I cock a brow at her. “You want me to beg for your forgiveness on my knees?”
Based on the way my body is reacting to her bare legs and the way my heart is thumping in my chest, there are other things I’d gladly do on my knees for her. I toss the thoughts aside. Clearly, my unintentional celibacy streak is clouding my brain.
Her shoulders bounce as she bites down on the corner of her plump bottom lip. “I’m short, and you’ve been an ass. We need to restore the balance of power, which means you need to come down to my level and tell me that you’re sorry. And mean it.”
I can’t believe I’m really going to do this. “If you want me to beg on my knees,” I tell her, already dropping one to the wooden planks. “I’ll get on my knees.” I’m now fully knelt before her, completely at her mercy. I look up at her, the air between us inflating with tension. “Only for you.”
She swallows audibly, staring at me wide-eyed, like she didn’t think I’d give into her. She clears her throat. “Whoa, you’re really doing it, huh?”
“Marisa,” I start, my hands pressing tightly together. “I’m deeply, regretfully, incredibly sorry for my poor behavior.”
Her full lips stretch into a radiant smile, revealing rosy cheeks. It’s a beautiful sight, and it’s directed at me. For a moment, the world slips into slow motion, my brain mentally capturing the image to keep as my heart thunders in my chest. I make a silent promise to continue giving her reasons to reveal that gorgeous smile.
Her eyes playfully roll. “Fine. You’re a quarter forgiven.” She giggles, a sound so bright it feels like the sun has come out and replaced the moon. “Get up. Before you hurt yourself.”
I stand, my knees cracking. Our gazes lock, and I’m pleased to see all evidence of her crying is long gone.
“I really am sorry,” I say more seriously, so she knows I meant what I said. “Especially for making you cry.”
Her brows knit, and she shakes her head. “You didn’t make me cry.”
“But you were crying when I got here?”
She tosses her head back and snorts. “I was crying because of the movie I’m watching.”
That can’t be right. “You were crying that heavily over a movie? What kind of movies do you watch?”
Her head gestures to the TV screen inside that’s paused on a young Tom Hanks. “Sleepless in Seattle. You know, it’s the part when he’s on the phone with the radio show talking about how the moment he first touched his wife, that’s when he knew.”
I’ve seen the movie, but only once or twice and it’s been years. “Knew what?”
Her eyes brim again with tears, and I want to laugh, but it wouldn’t be appropriate given the circumstances. “That she was home. It was like magic.”
A single tear slides down her cheeks, and the corner of my mouth starts to twitch.
“Don’t laugh,” she says, a mix of tears and laughter. “It’s not funny.”
I put my hands up in defense. “I’m not laughing.”
“What? Like you’ve never cried over a movie?”
“My eyes may have gotten a little misty watchingBand of Brothers.” I’m not so emotionally stunted that I don’t cry. I just don’t cry very often, and it’s usually not over something fictional.
“You’re such a guy,” she says, shaking her head.
I shrug. “Can’t argue that.”
Quiet settles between us. It’s a comfortable silence, not awkward like the ones we’ve shared before. We exchange gentle glances, her eyes soft and jaw relaxed. I feel lucky to have this moment with her, to even have the opportunity to be in herpresence after the way I’ve behaved. It’s going to take a lot more than begging on my knees to earn her forgiveness, but I’m up for the challenge.
“It’s getting late,” she says with a sigh. “I think I’m going to start getting ready for bed.”
A tinge of disappointment creeps in. I didn’t intend to stay here long. Truthfully, I’m surprised I made it this far without fucking things up even more. But now that I’ve spoken to her and made a small amount of progress toward repairing the destruction I caused, I find myself not wanting the night to end.
I nod in agreement. “Yeah, same.” I turn to leave. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight,” she echoes.
As I take the final step off her porch, my shoe catches on the corner of the railing and I have to do a hop-skip dance to catch myself from falling. It’s the opposite of subtle.
