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Eli gently nudges my foot with his.
“I’ve been on my own for a while.”
Which leads to him asking about my parents. I do my best not to get choked up about it. Their loss is like a scabbed-over wound that so easily gets picked off and goes back to painful.
Eli puts his hand on mine. “You’re not alone, Leelee. Not anymore.”
If he thinks that kind of statement is going to make me less emotional, he is very, very wrong. I dip my chin, swallowing back a sob at the sudden wave of emotions. Happiness, sadness, grief, hope, and the nagging sense of how much it will hurt when this ends.
“How long will this last?” I ask, my voice sounding a lot steadier than I feel.
Eli is quiet, and I finally take a breath and tilt my head up to look at him. I can’t quite read his expression, which looks as jumbled up as I’ve felt through this entire conversation.
“I don’t know,” he says finally. “Maybe … we can table that discussion for now and revisit later?”
I’m all too happy to do that. I think I’d happily table any further talking and end the date before I collapse from the emotional weight of it all. Doris has the right idea—snoring a few feet away, her head resting on one of my boots.
“Last item,” Eli says, and I almost groan. “What about kissing?”
Cue my face turning red. Again. Maybe I should start wearing blush in copious amounts so that when I get embarrassed or uncomfortable or any of the other emotions that spark the rush of blood to my capillaries, no one will be able to tell the difference.
“Good question,” I say. “Actually, wait—what’s the question?”
Eli’s hand closes around the sticky note, and I wonder if he even realizes he’s crumpled it into a ball. I watch, fascinated, as his Adam’s apple visibly moves.
“I know there are times that might call for kissing,” he says. “Like, uh, the proposal. And the wedding ceremony. I just want to make sure you didn’t think I expected you to have to kiss me all the time.”
“You say that like it’s a hardship,” I mutter.
If I had my choice, we’d have spent a better portion of the night kissing rather than having this awkward but necessary discussion.
Wise? Probably not.
Helpful in terms of guarding myself from falling harder for Eli? Definitely not.
Enjoyable? Absolutely.
“I just don’t want you to feel pressured,” he says.
“You’ve never made me feel that way.”
“Good.” Eli opens his hand, blinking down at the crushed pink paper. He tosses it toward the trash can. A perfect shot. He scoots off the counter and gets to his feet, stretching. I watch the way his biceps strain against his shirt, glad my cheeks are already hot so they don’t give anything more away. “I guess we’re settled.”
Settled is the last thing I feel. “On what?”
Eli’s gaze meets mine. “On kissing only when the situation requires us to.”
Is it just me, or does he sound as disappointed as I feel?
One thing that has come up over and over in my past relationships is my struggle to vocalize how I feel. What I want and what I don’t. I’m not sure if it’s my inherent shyness or that I never felt fully comfortable, even around my longest-term relationships. Which weren’t all that long.
But I find myself needing things to be different here. Not because this is an arrangement, not something real. I want to speak the truth to Eli. Even if it’s uncomfortable. Even if it’s a bad idea.
Even if it might reveal my true feelings for him.
“Do we need to take non-required kissing off the table?” I ask.
He goes completely still. Not a relaxed sort of stillness either. I can see the flex in his jaw. The tightness in the way his hands are fisted at his sides. Tendons in his neck are tight.
