Page 39 of Lessons in Love
“Damn straight I am.” I’ll have to wait until I see the pearly gates. We have another lesson to learn before we get to the heaven that’s awaiting me. I wrap my arm around her waist before she can escape and kiss her.
From the line, we hear the groaning, “Move up and get your coffee or get a room.”
Virginia tucks her head against my chest, her emotions worn in the shade her cheeks turn. I lean back and tell the guy moaning behind me, “I’m working on both.”She shakes her head, but at least she’s still smiling. “Can we end the torture?”
“For you, anything.” I kiss the top of her head right before she steps up and we order.
The small leather couch in the window by the Christmas tree is open and she beelines for it. We settle down, facing each other. She takes a sip of coffee, then asks, “What made you text me today?”
“I missed you.” With my leg anchored on the cushion, I’m not even sure if she knows she’s doing it, but her hand finds its way over, her fingertips rubbing back and forth. Dirty thoughts of those fingers rubbing something else come to mind. Grabbing her hand, I rest mine on hers. It feels so snug, though damn cold. “Geez, you’re like an icicle.”
That breaks any mushiness that was ballooning between us and we laugh. Pulling her hand back, she says, “Yeah, sorry about that. I need to buy a pair of gloves. I lost mine on the subway a week ago.”
I take her hands back from her lap and placing them between mine, I gently rub, creating just enough friction to warm her up. And you’re welcome. I set myself up with that usage of friction, but didn’t go there like I could have. Holding my crude comments might be another side effect of the chemical imbalance Virginia causes in me. Though she might consider it a positive side effect, the guys would call me pussy-whipped. I wouldn’t consider that such a negative though either.
When her hands feel warm, I release mine, and ask, “Better?”
“Much.” Staring at me, she swallows hard and suddenly tension is present.
“What happened?”
“Why did you do that?”
“Warm your hands up?”
“Yes.”
“Because they were cold.”
With her coffee cup in hand, she turns to the window, shifting so her arm rests on the back of the sofa. Watching the snowfall, she says, “I love the snow, the quiet, the coziness ofbeing inside, and building snowmen.” When her gaze turns back to me, she looks sad. “People here are too busy to appreciate the joy in the simple things.”
“I do.”
“I’m discovering that’s true. Is that the key to happiness?”
“Being content is the key to happiness. Appreciating what you have, instead of wishing you had more.”
“You ever wanted what you can’t have?”
Dragging the pad of my thumb over my bottom lip, I think about it. “Only once.”
“What do you want that you can’t have, Hardy?”
She hangs on every second as it spans between us, I look her straight in the eyes, and say, “It’s bad luck to share your wishes.”
The anticipation leaves her shoulders and she sinks against the couch. Letting her head roll to the side, she says, “I guess we should go.”
Looking at my empty cup, I nod. “Yeah, I guess.”
Out on the sidewalk, I ask, “How are you getting home?”
“Subway.”
Looking at the time, it’s almost ten. “I’d feel better if you took a cab.”
“Are you worried about me, Mr. Richard?”
“I do worry about you. I also worry about your girls and why you refuse to give them the support they want.”
