But I won’t. Because I have plans that won’t be derailed.
My nose traces her, and I’m the cartographer now, mapping out the curve of her jaw, her throat, her collarbone. My breath teases her shirt collar, making it flutter. I pause for air, like I’ve been deep sea diving and need to let my body adjust to the changing pressure.
“So … controlling,” Zoey says, her voice husky and low.
“You like me this way. I’ve seen it.” I lift my head and press a chaste kiss to one eyelid, then the other.
“I’ve seen it in the clench of your jaw.” Another kiss, a little less innocent, to the corner of her jaw. She clenches it as I do, and I kiss the other side, a little reward.
“I’ve seen your pulse race in your throat. Here.” I kiss her neck. “Just like now.”
“Gavin,” she says, and her groan is so primal that my careful control shatters.
My lips crash into hers, and I’m lost in the best way possible.
Immediately, I’m aware of how I've departed from my fantasy. I’ve run clear off the path and into a field, my head shadowed below the stalks of corn. This is better, her lips softer, her taste sweeter: chocolate pie and coffee.
And it’s not just this kissing dream that’s strayed from the plan. It’s everything. I don’t know if it was the introduction of Ella or something else, but I look at Zoey and I see a future. The whole thing.
I told myself after Eleanor that I was done. No more relationships. Certainly not marriage. But I would recite my vows right here in the barn, right now, if Zoey asked me to.
A new Zoey takes shape before me, one almost as bossy as me as she slants her lips to mine and drags her hands into my hair, directing me.
I let her. I don’t need control. I don’t need the fantasy.
I need her. Only her.
But I do need to slow this down before we careen so far off the path of a first kiss that we can’t come back. Everything else has moved so quickly for us this week. The last thing I want is to push too far with this.
Maybe outside this room, I’m too old for her. But here, now, everything is fresh and new for us both. We’re on exactly the same page.
I lift my hands to cup her cheeks, steadying the wildness I didn’t expect from her. She senses my change of pace and makes a small sound of protest. For a moment, her fingernails drag across my scalp deliciously. I have a foggy memory of begging her to do just that when she was nestled against me in bed.
My kisses turn slow, languid. My lips are firmer now, a closed-mouthed kiss to punctuate the ending. One on the freckle I first kissed earlier. A last, lingering one on her temple before I rest my cheek against hers.
It feels like I’ve been under water for years, buoyant in the peaceful, dim water. Low visibility and muted sound.
Now I’ve broken the surface, taking big, gasping breaths. Seeing and hearing things so bright and so loud. It’s glorious.
Our chests rise and fall, barely brushing. It’s too much and too little, so I slide my hands around her back and draw her to me in a solid hug.
Guilt begins its whispers as I feel Zoey tremble in my arms. I forget sometimes how young she really is. We haven’t talked about our pasts, about relationships. I literally carried her out here and then mauled her, two years of pent-up longing erupting in a kiss so heady that I feel like I’ll be recovering for days.
“Was it too much? Was I—”
“Perfect,” she says. “I’ve never had … I’ve never felt something so perfect.”
She sighs and relaxes into me, cradling her face into my neck.
“I love that you’re so tall,” I say, not even embarrassed as my secrets spill out like candy from a piñata. She has broken me open, and I’m hanging by a thread, everything inside rushing out.
“I love the color of your hair. Your eyes.”
She giggles a little and I shush the protest that I can sense rising in her throat.
“I love the way you don’t let the other women in the office walk all over you. I love the way you raise that eyebrow and shoot lasers from your eyes. I love your stunning mind. I love how you laugh with Nancy. Do you know that I