World Enough and Time

by Lauren Gallagher

  After an early lunch at a crowded outdoor café, we wandered down by the piers to watch the sea lions playing in the waves.

  “So, this is San Francisco.” I looked up at the skyline. “Seems like a nice place to live.”

  He nodded. “Yeah, I like it.” The silence that fell inched dangerously close to another conversation about how little time we had left, so I quickly changed the subject.

  “Where’s the university?” I asked.

  “It’s a ways south of here,” he said. “Closer to Palo Alto, actually.”

  “You’re not going to live down there?”

  He shook his head. “I like this city. Figured it’ll be worth the commute.” Then he laughed. “We’ll see, though. By the time my lease is up, I might be tired of driving thirty miles each way every single day.”

  “I don’t envy you for the amount of gas you’ll be going through,” I said. “Going to trade in the Jeep for a Malibu?”

  He shot me a good-natured glare, then put his arm around my waist and pulled me closer to him. “I could always make you walk back to the hotel, you know.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Same empty threat you used last night.”

  Kissing my cheek, he said, “Yeah, but that was before I’d finally gotten you into bed. Now that I have it all out of my system—”

  “Out of your system?” I laughed, pulling free from his grasp. “Does that mean you don’t want any more while I’m here?”

  “I didn’t say that,” he said, chuckling.

  Folding my arms across my chest, I tried to look serious. “So you won’t make me walk back to the hotel?”

  He put his hands on my hips and leaned in to kiss my neck. “Like you even have to ask.”

  Before I could come back with a witty retort, my cell phone vibrated in my pocket. “What the hell?” I muttered.

  “What’s wrong?” He cocked his head.

  “Phone.” I pulled it out and groaned when the caller ID showed Matt’s name. I glanced at Connor. “Mind if I take this?”

  He shook his head. “Not at all.”

  I smiled, then flipped my phone open. “Hey.”

  “Hey,” Matt said tentatively. “Are you, um, are you busy?”

  Glancing at Connor, I smiled. “Yeah, kind of.”

  “Oh. Um. Look, could you call me later?” Matt hesitated. “I’d like to talk. About, um. Things.”

  “Things? What things?” I laced my fingers between Connor’s.

  “Well, us, I guess.”

  I barely stopped myself from groaning again. “Need I remind you that ‘us’ doesn’t exist anymore?”

  Connor’s eyebrows jumped. I made an exasperated gesture and he laughed softly.

  “Dani, can we at least talk?” Matt said.

  “There isn’t much to talk about, Matt. In fact, there really isn’t anything to talk about.” I freed my hand from Connor’s and slipped it around his waist. He leaned in and kissed the side of my neck.

  “Look, I’ve been doing some thinking.” Matt paused. “I made a mistake.” So it wasn’t tentativeness. It was repentance.

  “It’s in the past,” I said.

  “I know it is, but I, you know, maybe we could…” He trailed off, searching for the words while Connor searched for that sweet spot just behind my ear.

  “Matt, don’t,” I said. “It’s—”

  “Dani, just hear me out.”

  I sucked in a breath, partly from aggravation with Matt and partly because Connor’s lips had found the spot they were looking for.

  Though there was a time when I would eagerly have taken Matt back, that time had long since passed. The man I wanted would be leaving soon, but that wasn’t a good enough reason to go back to the man I used to want.

  “Sorry, Matt,” I said. “It’s over, we’re done, I can’t.”

  “You can’t, or you won’t?” The hint of a snarl killed any sympathy I might have had for him.

  “Either or. End result is the same.”

  Connor lifted his head and we exchanged smiles. I added, “That, and I’m with someone else now.”

  “You’re—” Matt paused. “You’re with someone else? Already?”

  “Already?” I scoffed. “This from someone who already had a replacement moved into the house.”

  “That was,” he paused. “That was…different.” .”

  I laughed. “Different how? No, never mind, I don’t want to know. Listen, my boyfriend and I are on vacation, so—”

  “On vacation? What the hell? You’re not wasting any time, are you?”

  “Not that it’s any of your business, but yes, we’re on vacation. Together. And I’m going now. Goodbye, Matt.” With that, I snapped my phone shut.

  Connor kissed my neck again, murmuring, “So is this the part where I get to gloat because I got the girl?”

  “No,” I said. “This is the part where you stop teasing the girl and kiss her.”

  “That I can do.” He put his arms around me and as soon as he kissed me, my phone call was forgotten. His lightly stubbled chin brushed mine, raising more goose bumps than the cool wind, and for a long moment, all the hustle and bustle of the wharf disappeared.

  When he broke the kiss, he ran his fingers through my hair. “Now can I gloat because I got the girl?”

  I laughed. “Connor Graham, you are incorrigible.”

  “Damn right I am. Well, fine, if I can’t gloat, then I’ll just have to…” He kissed me again, this time even more passionately, pulling the breath right out of my lungs and almost knocking my knees out from under me.

  “Okay, you can gloat all you want now.” I panted against his lips. “As long as you kiss me like that again.”

  He winked, then glanced at his watch. “Actually, it’s almost one. We’d better get down to the dock or we’re going to miss the boat.”

  “Tease.”

  “I’ll make it up to you tonight, I promise.” He kissed me lightly. “Let’s go.”

  Hand in hand, we followed The Embarcadero from Fisherman’s Wharf to Pier 33, where a thick crowd gathered in front of the sign for Alcatraz tours. Connor handed our tickets over and we were ushered through the gate where a smaller crowd waited for the next boat.

  Once we were aboard, Connor stood behind me, hands on the railing beside mine. With any other man, it might have been claustrophobic, but I liked being close to him like this and not just because his body shielded mine from the crisp bay wind. As long as he was touching me, then he was still here. He was still—

  Stop it, Dani. Quit obsessing. Enjoy him while he is still here.

  He reached up and brushed some wind-whipped hair out of my face, then kissed my cheek.

  “So have you ever done this tour?” I asked.

  “A few times.”

  “You don’t mind going through it again?”

  “Not at all.” He nuzzled the side of my neck. “It’s been a while, and this tour never gets old.”

  “Well, good, I wouldn’t want you getting bored.” I glanced over my shoulder and smiled at him.

  He wrapped his arms around my waist. “I don’t think I could ever get bored with you around, Dani.”

  I laughed. “You never know.”

  Kissing my cheek again, he said, “I highly, highly doubt it.”

  The boat pulled up alongside a small dock. Once it was tied and the ramp lowered, Connor and I followed the other tourists to shore and up the path to the penitentiary. Inside, Connor’s fingers loosely laced between mine while we wandered through the cellblocks and courtyards.

  The tour included headphones and a cassette tape that explained the history of the island prison. With the tapes playing, we didn’t speak, but everywhere we went, he reminded me he was there. Fingers running up and down my spine while the narrator told the story of a famed escape attempt. A stolen kiss when we wandered past the old water tower. A hand on the small of my back while we walked, the same hand that discreetly gave my ass a gentle squeeze on the way up the ramp t
o the boat after the tour was over.

  On the way back to the city, leaving Alcatraz behind us, I leaned over the bow and looked out at the panoramic skyline. Connor put his arms around my waist, and though his touch made my heart flutter, something sank in my gut as I watched the city draw nearer.

  So this would be his new home. This was where he’d be in a few weeks while I stayed in Seattle.

  A few months down the line, when I thought about him and wondered what he was doing or who he was with, this was where he would be. Here, amidst these hills and skyscrapers, or at the university at the other end of the bay. Maybe with someone who was already here, or someone who hadn’t yet arrived.

  He would be here.

  I’d never thought it was possible to be jealous of a city, but there it was. I wanted him. San Francisco would have him.

  Chapter Thirty

  “I can’t say I’ve met too many women who swoon over baseball tickets,” Connor said.

  I looked over my shoulder as we climbed to our seats in the nosebleed section. “You also don’t know too many women who spend all day getting dirty and sweaty.”

  “Ah, but now I’ve seen the light.”

  “And the light was a sweaty, disheveled tomboy?” I laughed.

  “Damn right,” he said. “Here, this is our row.” We squeezed past a few people, found our seats, and sat down to watch the game.

  Connor looked around. “I haven’t been to this stadium before. Last game I went to down here was at Candlestick Park.”

  “That’s just a football stadium now, isn’t it?”

  He nodded. “But my dad took my sister and me to a game when we were in town on vacation years ago.”

  “I never made it to a game there. My uncle was there during that earthquake in 1989, though.”

  Connor’s eyebrows jumped. “He managed to swing World Series tickets? Lucky bastard.”

  I laughed. “Well, he thought so, at least until the ground moved.”

  “I can imagine.” He chuckled. “Though for World Series seats, I might just be willing to sit through an earthquake.”

  “Earthquake or not, I’d sell my damned soul for those tickets.”

  “Wait,” he said. “if your soul is already damned, wouldn’t selling it be a bit redundant?”

  I shot him a playful glare. “Brat.”

  “What? I’m just saying.” He shrugged, feigning innocence.

  I elbowed him, trying not to laugh. “Well then maybe I’ll sell yours instead.”

  “Please. You’d be lucky to get minor league tickets for that thing,” he laughed. “But you’re welcome to try.” We exchanged playful glances.

  The announcer’s voice boomed through the stadium, asking the fans to stand for the National Anthem. After the anthem was sung, we returned to our seats. Connor draped his arm around my shoulders and we settled in to watch the game.

  Though we focused on the game going on far below us, he was never any further from my mind than he was my body, and he made sure of that. His fingers ran up and down the side of my arm, occasionally drifting low enough to brush bare skin before retreating to my sleeve.

  Two could play at that game, however. I rested my hand on his leg. Every now and then, I trailed my thumb along the hem of his shorts, just grazing his skin, those brief, light touches making him fidget. When I turned to say something to him and he leaned in to better hear me, I flicked my tongue just below his ear, grinning when he shivered.

  The game went on, occupying half of my attention, if that. Now and again, we’d turn to each other for a quick kiss or a comment about the score, the players, or what he had in mind for me when we got back to the hotel. By the seventh inning stretch, the Giants were losing miserably, but I didn’t care. Neither the Mets nor the Giants were my team anyway, and regardless of the score, I was having the time of my life.

  Before I knew it, it was the bottom of the eighth. To avoid traffic, we left before the ninth inning. As much as I’d enjoyed the game, I was only mildly disappointed to be leaving. After all, I was still with Connor, so I couldn’t complain.

  Outside the stadium, we caught a cab and had the driver take us to Fisherman’s Wharf. A restaurant there had caught our eye the previous morning, and we’d left the game just in time to grab an early dinner.

  The restaurant offered an eclectic mix of local seafood and various European cuisine, which was exactly what the doctor ordered after a day of stadium food. As soon as we walked through the door, pungent garlic erased the smell of hot dogs and roasted peanuts. The wine list was as varied as the menu, and customers ranged from families in shorts and T-shirts to couples in shirts and slacks. It was the kind of low-key place that catered to tourists like us, but was quiet and high-end enough to beckon the locals through the doors.

  The place sat right at the water’s edge, the sound of the tide lapping at the rocks adding a gentle percussion to the soft classical music playing in the background. The view of the bay was panoramic, and off to the west, the Golden Gate Bridge gleamed red in the late afternoon sun.

  This was the perfect place to close out our day. And the weekend, for that matter. Tomorrow morning, we’d be on a plane bound for Seattle, and this was just the kind of quiet, leisurely atmosphere that could slow time down for a couple of hours.

  “Enjoy the game?” he asked after the waitress had taken our order.

  “Of course I did,” I said. “Even if someone kept trying to distract me.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Trying?”

  “Okay, even if someone kept distracting me.”

  He laid his hand over mine on the table and lowered his voice. “Something tells me you enjoyed the distractions as much as the game.”

  “I didn’t hear you complaining about it, either.” I ran my thumb alongside his hand.

  “No, absolutely not.” He clasped my hand in both of his and lifted my fingers to his lips. “But when we get back to our room, you can make it up to me.”

  “Or you could make it up to me.”

  He grinned. “We could always meet in the middle.”

  “Compromise. I like that.”

  A few minutes later, our food arrived, and we continued chatting and bantering while we ate. About the time we’d finished eating, the restaurant was starting to get crowded, so we opted for a quick exit rather than taking up a table while other people were waiting.

  It was still early and we weren’t quite ready to call it a night, so we wandered down The Embarcadero in search of the perfect place to watch the sun go down over the bay.

  The sidewalks were still thickly packed with tourists, but we just wove our way through them, lost in our own conversation. We didn’t raise our voices above the noise around us. Everything else—voices, cars, sea lions, waves hitting pylons—disappeared into the background and all I could hear was Connor. Hand in hand we walked together like a couple who had no reason to believe we’d ever walk alone again.

  A few blocks away from the restaurant, we found a dock that was mostly deserted, and there we stopped.

  The sun inched closer to the water, staining the sky with varying shades of purple and orange. In the distance, the Golden Gate Bridge etched a series of swooping curves and rigid lines just above the horizon. Though it was summertime, the wind off the bay was cool, giving the air just enough of a chill to create the perfect excuse for Connor to put his arms around my waist. Standing behind me, he kissed my cheek while we watched the day fade into the west.

  “The largest fire ever known, occurs each afternoon—” he whispered against the side of my neck. “Discovered is without surprise, proceeds without concern, consumes and no report to men, an Occidental Town, rebuilt another morning, to be burned down again.”

  “And which poet is that?”

  “Dickinson,” he murmured. “Not my favorite poet, but I always liked that particular poem.” As the sun kissed the water, Connor nuzzled my neck. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  “So am I.”

&nb
sp; He gently turned me around to face him. “I’ve been looking forward to it all week.” Tucking a windswept lock of hair behind my ear, he added, “I just can’t believe you finally got here.”

  I smiled. “It was only a week.”

  “Not even that long,” he said. “But I’ve still been going out of my mind.”

  “Me too.” Just needing to touch him, I put my hands on his chest. “I’m here now, though.”

  He touched my face and for a moment, just looked at me. Then, without a word, his fingers moved into my hair and he leaned in to kiss me. My hands slid around his neck and I returned his gentle kiss.

  There was nothing but tenderness in the way our lips moved together. We weren’t trying to turn each other on, though we did. We weren’t suggesting more to come, though it would. For now, we simply were.

  I don’t know how much time passed, but when our eyes met again, the sun had set and darkness had fallen.

  The pad of his thumb across my cheekbone.

  “I love you,” he whispered.

  “I love you, too.”

  And he kissed me again.

  * * *

  Like the first time we crossed this threshold together, we stumbled on our way into the hotel room, but this time we didn’t fall. Shoes came off and were kicked safely out of the way. His shirt landed on top of mine at our feet. Fingers tangled in hair and breath mingled between lips.

  There was urgency in every move we made to get from clothing to skin, but not our usual hungry desperation. This went above and beyond that. It wasn’t a pursuit of physical release, just the need to simply get as close to each other as possible.

  Half-dressed, we sank together onto the bed. Lying on his back with me on top, Connor tried to unfasten my bra. Couldn’t. Tried again. Still couldn’t. I reached back to do it, but it was too complicated for me too. That, and it meant taking my hands off him. Though it annoyed me, this strip of fabric dividing us, it bothered me less than even a second without his skin beneath my hands.

  Instead, I leaned down and kissed him again. How long we held each other like that, simply breathing and tasting each other, I couldn’t say. Time just didn’t matter.