His presence is overwhelming as he sits at my kitchen table, his elbows resting on the surface, his eyes set on me.
It just is, and I can’t explain why.
As much as I couldn’t explain why he constantly checked on me in his car. As if he wanted to make sure I’m okay.
He likes Frankie–– everybody likes her–– yet he gives me a different vibe when he interacts with me.
She’s just herself around him, and he acts friendly toward her, with me, though... He wants to know as much as I want to know about him.
It flatters and scares me at the same time.
Because I’ve never met someone like him.
“Uh... Okay. Thank you,” I say in response.
I look down, trying to remove the reflection of my thoughts from my expression, something telling me that he reads me easily.
“We should start to eat. Frankie will be out of the bathroom any minute now. What would you like to drink? Besides coffee.”
We both rise.
“Water,” he says.
I look at him.
He’s taller than me and wider, and there’s little space between us, and even if it were more, I’d still feel too close to him.
“I want to wash my hands,” he says in response to my moment of delicious panic.
“Sure.”
Laughing nervously, I give myself away.
Good thing the lights are low, and my ruddy cheeks are not that obvious.
I pivot, gesturing to the kitchen sink as we set ourselves in motion. Somehow, the kitchen becomes a very tight space, and I become prone to accidents, bumping into him.
I avoid touching him when I grab a bottle of water but not so much when I reach up to retrieve a tall glass from the cupboard.
I still don’t know why I’m set on taking out the glasses that Olivia and I rarely use. Maybe because he feels like an important guest.
Whatever it is, I find myself pushing up on my toes and stretching to grab the glass while he dries his hands on a kitchen towel.
I sense his body heat not far from me when he starts talking.
“It’s a nice house,” he says, his voice reverberating away from me as if he looks at something.
No matter how smooth and relaxed his tone is, it startles me, swiftly making me spin to him while struggling to stop myself from dropping the glass.
His eyes come to me, and then I realize what he was looking at while talking and glancing out the window.
The sun has already set, the early evening draping over the house, back lawn, terrace, and patio table.
The lights have turned on automatically outside, and now they glow over the rattan furniture, the congregation of flowers, and Hawaiian print pillows.
And then my eyes slide to the glass tabletop where the box of condoms I received from Olivia sits in plain view.
“Um... Yes. It’s great,” I say, shaking with embarrassment, plastering a smile over my lips.
How ironic?
A few hours ago, I was sitting in that chair, chatting with her, arguing that what she said was non-sense, thinking that I would never need her gift, and here I am, spending the evening with a man.
A hot man at that, who most likely wonders what’s going on in this house.
“Here,” I say abruptly, plopping the glass into his hand and motioning him to the table.
My hand slips, touching his fingers. I jerk back as if I touched a stove.
“Are you okay?” he asks, smiling, enjoying the effect he has on me.
“Yes. I’m perfectly fine,” I say in a strained voice.
There’s no innuendo in his voice, but there is a smile, and there is tension in his body, and my perception of him becomes heightened as if we morph into communication towers.
As if his flesh and blood begin to talk to me, changing my chemistry, spurring heat in me, enhancing everything–– the rhythm of my breaths, my heart rate, and body temperature.
All I want is to snap out of this moment that fuels my confusion.
As these things usually work, trying to fix my problem creates an even bigger mess.
I touch his forearm to nudge him to the table, bumping into his hand by mistake.
Out of reflex, he catches the glass that flies from my hand, but when he clutches it and straightens, I’m right there in front of him, inches away from... From everything–– his sculpted chest, lush lips, piercing eyes, and muscular body.
My eyes tilt up a little, locking with his stare that makes me lose my voice.
I can’t say squat, and that's the end of me.
I almost see him, leaning in, gripping my chin and placing a kiss on my lips. At least, that’s what my mind wants to see, or my heart desires, or my soul believes in.
He is not mine, I snap at myself, my turmoil not making it to the surface to give myself away.
Thank God.
I still look at him with big dewy eyes like a deer caught in the headlights, striped of willpower. Now I know what Olivia meant and why anyone can turn silly when the right man comes along.
He’s not the right man, a voice argues in my head, but I’m too smitten to push that thought back.
“Good thing, I didn’t break it,” I say, my hand on him, my eyes going down, my chin pointing to the glass. “Nothing is safe around me,” I joke, but he doesn’t smile.
Not a full mouth grin.
It’s just a ghostly grin woven in his eyes as if he muses over something.
He seems transported for a moment when the bathroom door opens and closes, and that’s our cue.
We break away from each other as Frankie walks in, her usual jovial self, grinning from ear to ear, looking at the food sitting on the table.
“I’m so hungry,” she says before we all get seated at the table.
9
LUNA RAE
Next morning
“Did you have a moment with Rex last night?” Frankie asks, smiling at me from under a wide brim straw hat.
She lounges in a patio chair, soaking up the sun.
“Good morning,” I murmur, eyes heavy with sleep, fingers wrapped around a large mug of coffee as I walk on the back lawn.
What a difference a day makes, I muse, sliding into a chair next to her and setting my coffee on the small wooden table between us.
The sky is clear, and the breeze is cool–– the weather is balmy.
Yesterday feels like a nightmare chased away by the first blink of light.
“Good morning to you too,” she says, her eyes lingering on me.
“Mmm... Doesn’t it feel nice?” I mutter, squinting against the sun, my gaze latched onto the horizon where the ocean glimmers, calm and quiet.
“It’s great, “ she admits before nestling in her chair and shutting her eyes. “I slept like a baby.”
My eyes stall on her face, a small smile lifting the corners of her lips.
“It was a great adventure,” she says.
“One that I don’t want to repeat,” I retort, bringing the cup to my mouth.
I dip my lips into my creamy drink.
“Not all of it,” she argues.
“Yeah, maybe,” I say, looking away and smiling.
I watch the flowers sway their heads in the breeze, their aroma dispersing into the air.
I sense her stare on me.
My cup goes down again, my gaze gyrating to her.
“What?”
“Did you...?” she mutters.