The Rising
Page 79
“Is your Wednesday still free?” I asked. “I can slot you in for Wednesday.”
A short laugh. “Yeah, it’s starting to feel like that, isn’t it? Yes, keep Wednesday night free and we’ll hang out. Also, don’t forget we’re driving into the city Saturday. Just the two of us. Not a word of it to the others until we’re five kilometers away.”
“Trust me, I know better. Mention ‘field trip’ and we’ll be stacking them into your truck like cordwood.”
Yes, Daniel had a truck. No, it wasn’t his old, falling-apart one. It wasn’t brand-new, but the Nasts diligently rewarded responsibility. Daniel could be trusted not to take off at midnight and go partying in the next town, so Daniel got his own truck. Corey had a bicycle.
“Do we have plans for this trip to town?” I asked.
“Lunch and a movie, I thought. Maybe dinner, too, if your folks are okay with you coming back late.”
“Oooh, that almost sounds like a date.”
Spots of color flushed his cheeks and he forced a laugh. “Yeah.”
I reached for a brownie and asked, as nonchalantly as I could manage, “And what if I wanted it to be a date?”
“What?”
I steeled myself, struggling to calm my racing heart, and forced my gaze to his. “What if I wanted it to be a date?”
He tried for a laugh, but didn’t quite find it, then rubbed at his mouth, his gaze dipping from mine. He cleared his throat and unfolded his legs, shifting position. Then he looked at me again, his gaze wary, guarded.
“Is that a no?” I said.
“No. I mean . . .” He struggled for the smile again. “I’m just waiting for the punch line. Something about making it a date so I need to pay. Or you expecting flowers. Or . . .” He trailed off.
“There isn’t a punch line,” I said.
I rose onto my knees and inched over, in front of him. Then I stopped about a foot away.
“No punch line, Daniel,” I said. “I’m asking if you’ll go out with me.”
He didn’t answer. Just reached out, his hand sliding between my hair and face, pulling me toward him and . . .
And he kissed me.
His lips touched mine, tentatively, still unsure, and I eased closer, my arms going around his neck. He kissed me for real then, a long kiss that I felt in the bottom of my soul, a click, a connection, some deep part of me saying, “Yes, this is it.”
Even when the kiss broke off, it didn’t end. It was like coming to the surface for a quick gasp of air, then plunging back down again, finding that sweet spot again, and holding onto it for as long as we could. Finally it tapered off, and we were lying on the picnic blanket, side by side, his hand on my hip, kissing slower now, with more breaks for air, until I said, “We should have done that sooner.”
He smiled, a lazy half smile, and he just looked at me for a moment, our gazes locked, lying there in drowsy happiness, before he said, “I think now’s just fine.” And he kissed me again, slower and softer now, as we rested there, eyes half closed.
“So, about Saturday, did you ask me?” he said after a minute. “Because I’m pretty sure that means you’re paying.”
“Nope. You were imagining it. Considering how you eat, the meal bill is all yours. But I will spring for the movie. And bring you flowers.”
He chuckled. “Will you?”
“Yep, a dozen pink roses, which you’ll have to carry all night or risk offending me.”
“And what happens if I offend you?”
“You don’t get any more of this.”
I leaned in and kissed him again. And we stayed out there, on the blanket, as the sun fell, talking and kissing, mostly, just being together. We had a long road ahead of us, and I knew it wasn’t going to be easy. But I had everything I wanted—everything I needed—and I’d get through it just fine. We all would.
A short laugh. “Yeah, it’s starting to feel like that, isn’t it? Yes, keep Wednesday night free and we’ll hang out. Also, don’t forget we’re driving into the city Saturday. Just the two of us. Not a word of it to the others until we’re five kilometers away.”
“Trust me, I know better. Mention ‘field trip’ and we’ll be stacking them into your truck like cordwood.”
Yes, Daniel had a truck. No, it wasn’t his old, falling-apart one. It wasn’t brand-new, but the Nasts diligently rewarded responsibility. Daniel could be trusted not to take off at midnight and go partying in the next town, so Daniel got his own truck. Corey had a bicycle.
“Do we have plans for this trip to town?” I asked.
“Lunch and a movie, I thought. Maybe dinner, too, if your folks are okay with you coming back late.”
“Oooh, that almost sounds like a date.”
Spots of color flushed his cheeks and he forced a laugh. “Yeah.”
I reached for a brownie and asked, as nonchalantly as I could manage, “And what if I wanted it to be a date?”
“What?”
I steeled myself, struggling to calm my racing heart, and forced my gaze to his. “What if I wanted it to be a date?”
He tried for a laugh, but didn’t quite find it, then rubbed at his mouth, his gaze dipping from mine. He cleared his throat and unfolded his legs, shifting position. Then he looked at me again, his gaze wary, guarded.
“Is that a no?” I said.
“No. I mean . . .” He struggled for the smile again. “I’m just waiting for the punch line. Something about making it a date so I need to pay. Or you expecting flowers. Or . . .” He trailed off.
“There isn’t a punch line,” I said.
I rose onto my knees and inched over, in front of him. Then I stopped about a foot away.
“No punch line, Daniel,” I said. “I’m asking if you’ll go out with me.”
He didn’t answer. Just reached out, his hand sliding between my hair and face, pulling me toward him and . . .
And he kissed me.
His lips touched mine, tentatively, still unsure, and I eased closer, my arms going around his neck. He kissed me for real then, a long kiss that I felt in the bottom of my soul, a click, a connection, some deep part of me saying, “Yes, this is it.”
Even when the kiss broke off, it didn’t end. It was like coming to the surface for a quick gasp of air, then plunging back down again, finding that sweet spot again, and holding onto it for as long as we could. Finally it tapered off, and we were lying on the picnic blanket, side by side, his hand on my hip, kissing slower now, with more breaks for air, until I said, “We should have done that sooner.”
He smiled, a lazy half smile, and he just looked at me for a moment, our gazes locked, lying there in drowsy happiness, before he said, “I think now’s just fine.” And he kissed me again, slower and softer now, as we rested there, eyes half closed.
“So, about Saturday, did you ask me?” he said after a minute. “Because I’m pretty sure that means you’re paying.”
“Nope. You were imagining it. Considering how you eat, the meal bill is all yours. But I will spring for the movie. And bring you flowers.”
He chuckled. “Will you?”
“Yep, a dozen pink roses, which you’ll have to carry all night or risk offending me.”
“And what happens if I offend you?”
“You don’t get any more of this.”
I leaned in and kissed him again. And we stayed out there, on the blanket, as the sun fell, talking and kissing, mostly, just being together. We had a long road ahead of us, and I knew it wasn’t going to be easy. But I had everything I wanted—everything I needed—and I’d get through it just fine. We all would.
