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“Under the right circumstances,” he answers, his voice a quiet murmur.
“What would those look like?” I ask.
The first firework rockets through the air, and my question remains between us. But when I glance over at him, his eyes are on me.
Colors dance over him, lighting him up and setting my sights on fire.
He finally looks away and up at the sky, but I can’t take my eyes off the way the column of his neck stretches, interrupted by his Adam’s apple.
Between the loud booms, the sparkles littering the sky, and the man beside me, my senses are in overdrive.
It feels silly to stand next to a stranger while watching explosive pyrotechnic devices go off in the sky, just to make the kids across the water happy for a good twenty minutes before they’re back to screaming again. The silliest part is feeling this tingle between us that makes me want to scoff.
One look at him has the urge dying down.
I’ve been called a bitch. A cold-hearted woman. A pain in the ass, among other things.
Some of these came from my older sister at one time or another.
The rest came from bitter men who’d used a toothpick to try to get past my near impenetrable walls. It takes more than a compliment or two to get a smile out of me.
The last of the fireworks crackle in the sky, boom after boom filling the air as I find myself standing closer to Ezra.
“The grand finale,” he leans in to whisper in my ear, his fingertips brushing against my elbow.
It’s been years since I’ve seen this same show, determining it a waste of time after all of my friends left for college, or for men. Most of them are married with children now and have no time for their single friend back home.
I don’t need their pitying gazes, anyway. I have no desire to live like they do, as a slave to little monsters and men who barely look at them now that they’ve served their mating purpose.
But, at one time, this display of fireworks used to take my breath away. Now, with no one to see them with, I spend my time trying to make the best of a failing business.
When I sit alone, hopelessness claws at me, demanding I give it attention.
Here and now, it’s so far from where I stand.
I glance at Ezra, feeling his eyes on me again.
“You’re missing it,” I whisper.
He couldn’t have heard me, but he leans in and catches my chin before I’m able to look away.
His thumb presses against my mouth before dragging my bottom lip down. We’re closer than I’ve been to a man in quite some time. I’ve forgotten what this warmth feels like.
“You have no idea,” he tells me, close enough that I can hear it.
I want to ask him what he means but he leans in even closer, silently asking for permission.
He’s staring at me, his gaze intent as if those windows to his soul are wondering the same thing.
May I kiss you?
I close my eyes.
If I see it coming, like a storm, I’ll want to run away. I’ll want to find shelter.
But when he presses his lips to mine, it’s the gentlest of drizzles.
It’s sweet and tentative; something I hadn’t been ready for.
