Page 71 of Heartbeat

Even under artificial light, the streaks of gold near his irises became more pronounced and with such depth, giving the impression they held entire galaxies inside them—with no one ever being any the wiser. Also, he had a small, vertical scar between his left eye and temple, and I didn’t necessarily need to have him tell me about it. I could spend hours listing reasons for it to be there, quite content in trying to figure it out in my head. But what I noticed with the most detail, was how he had a tendency of looking at my lips and then my eyes, in that particular order, every time he turned his gaze on me. I’d noticed it before, of course. What I hadn’t quite computed was how his chest inflated with air just as he did it, making the space between his collarbone and neck deepen, and as he let out the air from his lungs, he did so slowly, and just as slowly, ran the tip of his tongue over his bottom lip.

“Here we are,” he said softly, shifting his gaze from my lips to my eyes and taking a deep, slow breath.

I didn’t turn around. I simply reached my open hand out until it found his chest, closed it, making a fist, and pulled him closer until my lips found his, and I was finally able to do what I’d wanted since opening the front door.

Chapter Fifteen

Bloom

Hidden at the end of a long, intentionally poorly lit alleyway, Bloom was nestled in a small area entirely surrounded by tall buildings. A single white dogwood stood at the center of the courtyard, with no more than twenty tables arranged around it. Strung above the place, countless small, golf ball–sized white bulbs were matted, resembling a beehive. From it, strands of barely visible wires found their way to every corner of the courtyard, forming an intricate web of incandescence, setting a calm, inviting atmosphere. It was one of those gems only this city had to offer. A great, cozy, French restaurant that hadn’t been spoiled by being discovered and remained reasonably simple and focused solely on the food. Simplicity, as it were, was a key word there. There were only two versions of the same dish: Entrecôte (aka rib steak) with french fries that kept coming for the duration of the entire meal and a special sauce, which supposedly, no one except the chef knew how to make.

And it was fucking delicious.

We’d fallen into a comfortable silence that lasted a few minutes, halfway into dinner. It was then that I realized silence with Ethan Cooper did not equal awkwardness. We’d gone quiet, focused on our food and, even though we still managed the occasional exchange of looks and an eyebrow raise or two, for a good three minutes we simply didn’t speak—nor seemed bothered by it.

“Your mom seems nice,” Ethan eventually commented as he cut a perfectly square piece of steak and dipped it in golden, silky sauce.

“She’s okay,” I said, motioning the waiter to come over for the third time to ask for more fries. “She liked you.”

“How do you know?”

“She went for her hair. Mom flipping her hair is one of her biggest tells.”

“Yeah? I wonder what it is I did to earn a hair flip.”

Sure. Like those dimples have no track record.

“Who knows.” I shrugged. “Maybe you two just clicked.”

“She seemed surprised to see me though,” he said, mid-bite.

“I think everyone’s still adjusting to me going out again, to be honest.” I let the waiter fill my plate with fries.

“How do you mean?”

I didn’t particularly want to approach the topic. It didn’t seem appropriate. But I figured it wasn’t something I could ignore forever, nor was it fair of me to withhold something like that from him. The timing might be off, but then again, I didn’t really think it was possible to ever talk about something like that and have it be at just the right moment. Certain things have no easy fit in the world, be it in terms of time, chance, or opportunity. It didn’t mean they lacked in importance.

“Well,” I said, taking a break from hoovering fries. “When Liam died, nobody really knew what to do.”

He gave me a look that exuded empathy.

“Mom took time off from work and glued herself to her side of the bed; Dad, in turn, glued himself to his desk at his office downtown; Noah had zero clue how to handle it and did what he could—he acted out.” I tried to pretend there wasn’t a Super 8 rolling in the back of my mind as I twisted my words into sentences for his benefit. “My grandparents took it pretty hard, too—especially Granddad. Liam had been his shadow, something that hadn’t changed as we got older.”

“Yeah?” He smiled kindly.

“Absolutely. They’d even had monthly chess outings at the park. Liam and Granddad would spend a whole weekend having a sort of tournament with Granddad’s friends—they always won.”

“That’s very cool,” Ethan said, folding his hands over his lap and slouching a bit.

“It was.” I did my best to keep my Super 8 from sidetracking. “They called every day. So did most of the family, as well as Mom’s and Dad’s friends. Not to mention our friends. I told you how we had the same group of friends.”

Ethan nodded.

“Well, Jonas is my best friend since the womb, basically; Marcy was Liam’s. Then there was Emma too.”

But he doesn’t need to know about that just then.

“Everybody froze,” I continued. “So…I had to sort of do everything.”

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