Page 20 of Bottles & Blades
And he made me a makeshift charcuterie board, feeding me because he heard my stomach growl.
Well, really, he couldn’tmissmy stomach growling.
But still, he sent me off to put clothes on and then made me food.
Except…he sent me off to put clothes on.
That settles some place not nice, and I almost wish I could take my request for him to stay back. Maybe this was just some sort of moral obligation and he doesn’t want to be here. Maybe….he doesn’t like what he sees.
It certainly wouldn’t be the first time someone thought that.
But before the uncertainty can take over, before I can hop to my feet and escort him to the door, before I lock up—lock up this strange, long day, lock up these strange, unfathomable emotions—he slowly spins to face me.
He’s really quite beautiful.
His features could be on a marble statue in one of the museums I’ve dreamed about visiting.
His skin softly tanned, as though he’s spent time on a white sand beach that only exists in my fantasies.
The stubble on his jaw, the effortless fall of his hair, the strength in his body as he prowls toward me, his eyes searching mine is even more impressive than anything that existed in my mind before now.
“You would probably be wise to tell me to go,” he says softly, his hand resting on the back of the couch.
An inch from my shoulder, from tangling in the damp strands of my hair.
It would be easy to lean in, to close that distance between us.
I swivel, tucking my leg beneath myself, turning to face him.
But not summoning the courage to actually make contact with his hand.
That’s a step too far.
Coward,my inner mean girl says.
Look, I asked him to stay, okay?I snap back at her.That’s enough.
No, it’s not,she replies.Don’t you want to have something more in your life than struggling to pay for a crappy apartment while taking care of your parents?
The pang that goes through my heart is sharp enough that I lean forward, set my wine glass on the coffee table, and rub my hand over my chest, trying to soothe the ache.
Is my life small?
Yes.
Is it likely insignificant to other people?
Also, yes.
But am I alive and living out my small dreams of going to college, living on my own, and working a job when a decade ago that future was uncertain?
Yes.
And am I?—
Jean-Michel shifts and I snap out of my internal musings. Okay, my internalargument.
Something that likely makes me insane.
