by Amy Waeschle
His expression softened. “I’m sorry I put you through that.”
“It’s not your fault,” she replied. “It’s just where my brain went.”
“From now on let’s make sure we don’t get separated. Unless, of course, you want to get rid of me.” His eyes flashed with playfulness.
Cassidy gave him a look. “Why would I want to get rid of you?”
“Because my feet stink.”
Cassidy laughed hard. “What?”
“It’s true. After my feet have been in ski boots all weekend, I can clear a room.”
Cassidy wrinkled her nose. “Hmm, maybe I won’t be giving you a ride home tomorrow.”
“See?” Pete said. “It’s just a matter of time before you discover all of my quirks.”
Cassidy squinted at him as her stomach fluttered. She felt a powerful tug, as if an invisible rope was pulling her steadily towards some thrilling yet terrifying unknown.
He leaned to her, and she closed her eyes as his kiss touched her lips. Her whole body filled with warmth. The kiss continued, making her blood pound. A craving to be with him soared through her.
He pulled back and smiled. “Ready?” he asked.
“Ready,” she replied.
The next morning Cassidy pulled her car to a stop next to the RV Pete had described as “the ugliest hunk of metal in the parking lot.” It was true: Ginny’s tan, rectangular-shaped mass was adorned with poo-brown stripes, rust stains, and a colorful line of bumper stickers crowding the back window with sayings like: “Jesus is coming . . . look busy” and “I believe in unicorns.” Steam billowed from the vent in the roof.
During the night, the gentle snowstorm turned windy, depositing another six inches of snow. Even though the conditions would not be as enjoyable as the previous day, Cassidy longed to ski these first few morning hours. However, she needed to get home.
The RV door opened and a beacon of light shone from inside. Cassidy caught a glimpse of Ginny’s interior: a tan couch, a stovetop, fake wood cupboards. Pete poked his head through the doorway, a cup of something steaming in his hands.
Cassidy’s skin tingled. She rolled down her window.
“Coffee?” he asked her, grinning. He wore Levis, fur-lined Sorel boots, and a forest-green puffy coat patched with duct tape that made his arms look like the Michelin Man’s.
“Sure,” she called out, then met Pete halfway to the RV. The cold air swirled around them. Her heart tapped high and fast in her chest.
“Good morning,” he said.
“Morning,” she replied. They stood close, the energy between them crackling. All the way down the mountain the day before she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him, and scenes from their day had replayed like a slide show in her mind as she tried to fall asleep. This morning, she had practically jumped out of bed to pack up and make the drive to meet him.
He leaned forward ever so slightly, and the sensation of falling gently toward him took over.
Aaron appeared at the RV door. “Coffee’s ready!” he sang.
Startled, Cassidy jumped back.
Pete turned to him, and Cassidy caught the look of mild annoyance on his face. “Why, thank you, Aaron.”
Aaron blinked. “You’re so welcome,” he replied, then disappeared inside.
Pete exhaled, his smile a playful half-grin that flipped her stomach inside out. “Would you like the tour?” he asked her.
“Absolutely,” she replied.
Pete took her hand, and the sudden contact from his touch sent a rush of energy through her. He led her up the stairs.
After the tour, with a cup of piping-hot coffee in her mug and Pete settled in the passenger seat next to her, Cassidy cruised to the end of the parking lot and turned down the twisty mountain road. She let him pick the music, then they listened to an episode of a podcast she had downloaded. The tension of the missed kiss in the parking lot seemed to hover in the air, and Cassidy fought the urgency to speed home. At a rest area where they stopped for a stretch and a bathroom break, Pete offered to drive so she could work. Cassidy jumped at the opportunity, and so pulled out her stack of Geology 101 labs from her bag. When she removed her down coat, she caught Pete checking her out, but he quickly turned away, blushing. He brought out the rest of his salami and some cheese, and Cassidy offered some apples, so they pulled away from the parking lot munching. Cassidy tried to hold in her anticipation, though it trickled out with a smile now and then. She hoped Pete didn’t notice.
They reached his apartment in Seattle, located just off of I-5 and between the University District and downtown, at ten o’clock in the morning. His neighborhood included a homey-looking café called Julia’s, a laundromat, a small grocery store, public tennis courts, and a dry cleaner.
“Do you want to come up?” Pete asked.
Cassidy felt the hum of electricity between them spike. “Sure,” she said. Just for a bit, she told herself. She removed his skis from the rack on her truck, and Pete carried his duffel bag and ski poles. They climbed the stairs to the second floor where the grey, overcast sky obscured the city skyline. Cassidy followed him to the end of the exterior walkway, trying not to rush, hearing her breath loud in her ears, but Pete’s stride was brisk, as if he, too, was in a hurry. He unlatched the double lock on his apartment and the door swung open.
“Welcome,” Pete said, placing his bag inside the doorway.
Cassidy stepped into the living room furnished simply with a brown fabric couch, oversized easy chair, and dark wood coffee table piled with magazines and newspapers. She noticed the lack of a TV.
“Can I get you something?” Pete asked, disappearing into the kitchen. “Coffee? Orange juice?”
“I’ve definitely had enough coffee,” Cassidy replied, following him around the corner. She leaned her hip against the wall and took in the tube-like kitchen arranged with a small round table and two chairs at one end, appliances at the other. In the middle, a window over the sink let in the diffuse winter light. “But orange juice sounds good, thanks.”
Pete dove into the fridge and pulled out a half-empty jug. He pulled down two mismatched glasses and poured. Cassidy stepped closer and accepted her glass of juice. A peek out the window revealed a view of the side street.
“The view is better from the front door, unfortunately,” he said, taking a sip of the juice.
Cassidy nodded. “It’s nice, though,” she said of his place. “You and Mark don’t watch TV?” she asked.
Pete shook his head. “We had one, but we never watched it. Then the one time we tried, it didn’t work, so we pitched it. After Mark comes home, the last thing he wants to do is watch more TV.” Cassidy remembered that Mark worked as a news writer for Seattle’s King Five studio.
Cassidy finished her juice and put her cup in the sink. Pete’s glass sat on the counter, half empty.
“Thanks for the ride,” he said.
“No problem. Thanks for driving so I could work,” she said.
“Anything for science,” he teased.
She smiled, and their eyes locked. He took a step closer. She lifted her face to his, her insides buzzing with a warm, powerful current as their lips met.
Seven
Pete’s apartment, Seattle
November 29, 2014
Cassidy stepped closer and kissed him back, feeling the heat of his body. They kissed again, longer this time, her head buzzing. He brushed a lock of her loose hair over her shoulder and caressed the side of her neck, his fingertips so soft. She reached her arms around him, delighted at how perfectly their bodies fit together. His body felt strong and compact, like he was made of granite. Their next kiss went on until she had to gasp for breath, and their eyes locked again.
He smiled. “I had a great time with you this weekend,” he said.
“Me too,” she replied.
He leaned down and kissed her again, and her skin started tingling. He pulled her closer. Their tongues met, playful and gentle, and the kisses deepened. Ca
ssidy felt like she was being swept along on a gentle ocean current, the shore drifting further and further away. Her body hummed with a craving that strengthened the longer they kissed. The sensation that time was slipping peacefully away was wonderful and intoxicating. She gave into it fully, taking in everything: his soft lips, his firm body, his gentle touch on her skin.
Pete pulled back. “Sorry about my scruff,” he said, rubbing his cheek. “It doesn’t hurt, does it?” he asked, his fingertips brushing the side of her face.
Cassidy shook her head. His eyes watched her with such care it almost felt like too much, and she blinked.
“I usually grow a beard every winter at the start of ski season.” He scratched his stubbly chin. “Is that going to bother you?”
“No,” Cassidy said, startled that he would think to ask her.
“So, um, I haven’t had a shower in three days,” he said, looking suddenly shy. “And that thing I told you about my feet? It’s no joke.”
She laughed. “I should go, anyway,” she said, though the heat swirling low in her belly told her otherwise. “My deadline is no joke, either,” she added.
Pete’s hand found hers and even though it was such a simple thing, the warmth of his touch flowed into her.
“When can I see you again?” he asked.
Tomorrow? Cassidy wanted to say. “How long will you be in Portland?”
He thought for a moment. “A few days, at least.”
She didn’t want to wait that long. “Are you free tonight?” Cassidy asked before she could stop herself.
Pete blinked and an expression of hope bloomed on his face. “Want to get some dinner?”
“Sure,” she said, though realistically, grabbing a quick beer at the end of the evening would be the more responsible plan.
Pete didn’t seem to notice her hesitation. “Or why don’t I cook. You do own a saucepan, right?” he asked, his eyes flashing with mischief.
“How else can I make my Top Ramen?” she said.
His eyes widened in horror. “Please tell me you don’t really eat that stuff.”
“Why not?” she said, biting her lip to hold in her smile. Messing with him was almost as fun as kissing him.
“That settles it.” He grinned. “What time?”
“Six?”
He stepped close. “Perfect,” he said, and kissed her. It rekindled her longing so strongly that she reconsidered her plan to leave, but Pete saved her. “Go on, I don’t want to be responsible for your career going up in flames.”
Cassidy laughed.
After returning home, Cassidy showered and put away her gear, then made a giant pot of tea, pulled on her thick wool socks and a dense fleece hoody, and settled in with her laptop at the picnic table she had purchased for their dining room furniture.
Thoughts of Pete threatened her concentration. A tingle of nervousness or something else knotted up her insides at the thought of him in her kitchen. She imagined the two of them working side by side, his body warming the space around her, his hand occasionally finding hers. She checked the clock and realized that hours had passed. With a groan, she refocused on her task.
At 5:45, she finally quit. By then, Juno had returned only to disappear into his room, Miles had stopped in just to leave again for his girlfriend Shelby’s, and Emily still hadn’t returned from visiting her parents in Spokane. Cassidy had managed to complete a solid first draft of the proposal. It still needed a thorough edit before the December 1 deadline only two days away, though. Cutting it pretty close, Kincaid, a voice inside her head warned. Unfortunately, her dedication to the grant meant a pile of ungraded Geology 101 lab quizzes waited for her as well, but she could knock them out later, or in the morning, depending on what happened with Pete.
You know what’s going to happen, she told herself. Or at least, you know what you want to happen. The jittery tingle spread over her skin again, making her cheeks feel hot. She remembered the way their bodies fit together when they kissed, and the craving to touch him returned.
Hearing Emily’s voice in her mind, Cassidy changed into black leggings and a pale turquoise, wide-neck sweater. She put in tiny gold earrings and brushed the tangles from her hair.
Pete arrived at six o’clock sharp carrying a grocery bag and a large silver bowl covered in plastic wrap. A reddish tinge marked his cheeks from the windburn and exposure on the mountain. His thick, sandy blonde hair was combed neatly to the side and his grey-blue eyes shone bright and glassy, like a kid’s.
Cassidy met him in the glassed-in entryway and took the bowl so he could shrug off his coat and slip out of his shoes. “You’re on time,” she teased.
“I almost came early, but I knew you had work to do.” He flashed her a grin. His button-down shirt was tucked into faded Levis held up by a brown leather belt. With amusement, she noticed that he had on the same type of thick wool socks she liked to wear.
“Smells good,” she said, inhaling the aroma coming from the dark brown bread in the bowl.
Pete straightened from tucking his shoes under the bench, grinning. “Family recipe.”
He leaned across the bowl to kiss her, and it all felt so wonderful and silly—with her hands stuck holding the bowl and his grasping the grocery bag that she giggled. “You do smell better now,” she said after the kiss ended. In truth, she hadn’t noticed his scent before, but now she detected the yeasty fragrance of rising bread mixed with something slightly spicy, like cloves. Whatever its origin, it was lovely.
“I’ll keep my socks on, just to be sure,” he added with a grin.
She led him through her living room that faced a set of three large windows to the kitchen. Pete placed the grocery bag on the floor near the sink and looked around, an eager gleam in his eyes.
The picnic bench sat to the left, on the street side of the house, with Cassidy’s bedroom door to the right, towards the back. The three other bedrooms were lined up behind the living room off of a narrow hallway, with a bathroom in between the first two. Cassidy had her own bathroom and a separate entrance that she hardly ever used.
“This is nice,” Pete said, looking impressed.
“Thanks,” she said, cringing at the idea of telling him that she owned the house. She thought of his beat-up car and tidy but simple apartment. Would he freak out when he found out about her situation? Take it easy, Kincaid, she thought. Things may not even get that far.
“Did you get your work done?” Pete asked.
“Hmm?” she asked, lost in the loop of what ifs. “Oh, yeah, or enough for today,” she answered. In truth, she could spend the rest of the evening working.
They heard a door open and a moment later, Juno came into the kitchen. “Oh, hey,” Juno said, blinking in surprise at Pete.
Cassidy made introductions. Juno grabbed a yogurt container from the fridge and a spoon and headed back towards his room. “Nice to meet you,” Juno called over his shoulder. They heard the door shut quietly behind him.
“He’s doing a PhD in physics. I hardly ever see him,” Cassidy explained. “Emily, one of my other roommates, won’t be home until late, and Miles is with his girlfriend, Shelby.” Both in their final year of Medical school, Miles and Shelby were practically inseparable. Sometimes Cassidy could hear their romantics all the way in her room. Emily had hinted that it was hard to sleep sometimes.
“Are they all at the U?” he asked, stepping to the large sink to wash his hands.
“Yeah.” She followed his example and washed up, too. “What can I help with?” she asked as he slid a knife from the butcher block and grabbed the cutting board from behind the faucet. He turned on the oven and removed a bread pan from the grocery bag.
“Would you like to chop carrots?” he asked.
Cassidy jumped to action, and soon they were chopping and talking and laughing. At one point, she was heading for the fridge and he was returning from the stove, and they crashed into each other in the middle of the kitchen. He started to apologize, but the words never made
it out of his mouth because his eyes had changed, and her arms slid around him. His lids closed—they were just the palest pink, with his thick lashes perfectly contrasting—and he kissed her. The feeling of being whooshed down a serene, flowing river overtook her. The timer beeped and after a long moment he pulled away, his smile practically lighting the kitchen. Their foreheads touched and she told herself to breathe.
They ate facing each other with the steam from their cooking fogging the large kitchen window. Everything tasted incredible: from the dense, fragrant bread to the rich soup, spiked with a little kick that pulled it all together.
“Where did you learn to cook?” she asked, blowing on a spoonful of soup.
Pete shrugged. “My mom. We cooked together a lot when I was growing up. When I was a kid I hated it, but now I’m thankful.”
“I’m thankful too,” she said. She buttered another slice of bread. “This is amazing.”
He grinned. “It’s super easy to make,” he said.
She gave him a skeptical look. “Says you.”
They ate in silence for a moment. “Did your dad cook?” he asked.
Cassidy laughed. “No.” Her dad was helpless in the kitchen. “My brother did, though. I guess he’s like you in that he likes to eat, so out of necessity, he learned to cook.”
“Is your stepmom a good cook?”
“She’s okay. I mean, there were four of us, so I’m sure it was tough to please us all.”
“Stepsiblings?” Pete asked.
“Yeah. Rebecca and Reeve. They’re younger than me and Quinn.” Cassidy didn’t have much contact with either of them, especially Reeve who had gotten mixed up with drugs and was unpredictable. Her family still gathered for Christmas each year, but only because Rebecca insisted that not doing so would break her stepmom Pamela’s heart. Cassidy never told Rebecca about the difficulty of returning to the house her father had died in, to walk those same walls that had felt like a prison while growing up.
