Ran’s eyes squint. “Would you be surprised if I told you that you know more about me than almost anyone else?”
“Yes,” I admit, crouching down next to him at the base of the tree. “I would.”
“Well.” He pushes off his knees to stand and extends a hand down to me. “You do.”
Ran’s face is illuminated by the firelight and I want so badly to reach out and drag my finger across his features, but I keep my hands at my side, determined not to embarrass myself more than I have a history of doing. The way the glow highlights and shadows his face is so intriguing, just like his personality.
“So. What do you say we get some decorations on this tree?”
The goldfish garland doesn’t go as planned. After crumbling nearly half of the carton between our fingers—which Ran’s dog, Nikon, was happy to clean up for us—we decide that popcorn is the better route to go. More spongy, less crackly.
I head to the kitchen to pull a bag of popcorn from the cupboard and settle it into the microwave as I try to determine which keys I need to press to get the device to work. Why do all microwaves have to work differently? Can’t they make some universal one where you can just press START? Life as a whole might not be easy, but there are some things that should be inherently simple. Microwaves definitely fall into that category.
I’m still figuring out the electronic device when Ran comes up behind me and punches the keypad over my shoulder. “You know how earlier you said you didn’t know much about me?”
I nod, my back still turned to him. I can feel his body heat against my sweater even though he’s still a foot or so away.
“You forgot that lengthy list of all the things I’m really good at.”
“You mean the one about guitar playing and backrubs and cooking?” I feel my heart beating at the base of my neck and stare at the numbers counting down on the microwave to calm its rate.
“You’re forgetting the part about me being a good kisser.”
Yeah, right. Like I could forget that part. “Oh,” is all I say.
There are just ten seconds left for the popcorn, and I feel my thrumming pulse match each beat.
“Aren’t you wondering why I haven’t kissed you yet, Maggie?”
The microwave beeps and I jump out of my skin, but more from the hand planted on my hip rather than the shrill echo of the buzzer. Even as Ran retrieves the bag of popcorn from the microwave, he keeps his palm in place on the curve of my body. He sets down the bag on the tile counter and spins me around with another hand positioned firmly on my other hip.
“Don’t tell me you haven’t wondered.”
I scoot back across the floor to press my backside up against the cupboard, gaining some space so I can clear my head, but he follows my movements—his hands still on me—like we’re doing the conga or tango.
“I don’t know,” I stammer uneasily.
Ran releases me from his grip. “I’m going to tell you something, and I don’t want you to judge me, okay?”
“Okay.” I nod.
“You can’t think differently of me because of it.” There’s a look of worry shrouded in his eyes. He hesitates before saying, “Because it’s not something I’m proud of.”
Oh great. This is the part where I find out he’s some creep who has a weird foot fetish or that he has a secret identity and works for the government or something. This is where everything I hoped we could become shatters and falls down around me, just like everything else always does. I ready for the other shoe to drop.
“I’ve never had a first kiss before.”
I almost fall onto the counter when he says it, and I’m so thankful that I’d propped myself up against it before he spoke because it helps keep me upright and doesn’t make the shake that the laughter causes so apparent. “Ran,” I giggle, not wanting to hurt his feelings, but not understanding what he’s confessing. “That’s impossible. I’m sure you’ve kissed tons of girls.” I keep a joking tenor in my voice, and I hope he doesn’t pick up on the confused quality that is equally as evident.
“You’re right, I have. But I’ve never really had a first kiss.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.” I shake my head. I hear the jingling of Nikon’s collar before he appears in the kitchen, and when he does, Ran swats him away with the back of his hand.
The breath that Ran sucks in indicates he’s drawing in more than just air before he prepares to speak. It’s like he’s trying to fill himself up with something else...courage maybe. Even though it’s hard to do so without trembling, I place a steady hand on his forearm to offer him a bit of my own.
“Maggie. I’ve done lots of things in my past with more girls than I’d like to admit.” I’m not really surprised—I’d guessed it from the first time I met him—but for some reason, it still hurts when I hear it. Maybe not hurts, but disappoints. But I have no right to be disappointed. Though I haven’t been with anyone other than Brian, we were together for three years and I gave myself to him a year into it. I have my own history that I’m not proud of, too.
“Maggie,” Ran continues. “When I say I’ve never had a first kiss, it’s because I haven’t. The first time I ever did anything with a girl, it was sex.”
I press further into the counter. “Oh.”
Before I have a chance to say anything, he continues. “I was fifteen. We were at a party. There was no kissing, no intimacy, we just went for it.”
I nod my head, but not because I understand. I don’t know how you could do that with someone without feeling some ounce of intimacy in the act.
“Honestly, I was going through some stuff with my past at the time—working through some issues about my parents—and I just needed an escape. So that started a pattern for me. Using girls as an escape.”
It’s getting harder to swallow, and the strong smell of the freshly-popped popcorn on the counter is beginning to nauseate me, pulling acid up into my mouth. I choke it down and say, “Okay.”
“So with every girl I promised myself I wouldn’t become attached—remember I said I get attached to things easily?” He looks down at me with wide eyes and I nod. “For me, taking things slow and in the appropriate order meant setting things up for a relationship, and that’s never what I wanted.”
I think I’ve been holding in my breath this whole time, because the dizziness that spins me around has been growing steadily, and it’s now to the point that I have to grip onto the ledge of the counter to keep myself from tumbling over.
“It was never relational, Maggie. It was always just to fill a void.” Ran’s blue eyes don’t blink—they haven’t for a few minutes—and I’ve never seen anything more open and honest. “That’s why I never started with kissing. That felt too personal. I always did everything in the reverse order, so that way when things ended, it was obvious, because we’d gone through the entire list and worked our way backward through the ‘relationship.’ ” He makes quotes around his words.
“I don’t know,” I interject. “Sleeping with someone seems pretty personal to me.” Hearing Ran bare his soul makes it impossible to keep mine hidden. “It always felt personal for me, at least.”
“And that’s what makes it so awful—because even though that part was never personal for me—I’m sure it was for some of them.” He pauses and then takes my hands into his. My palms instantly coat with sweat. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”
I blush from the confusion, from feeling Ran’s fingers connected with my own, and from the heat of the fire in the other room that I’m finding completely unnecessary at the moment.
“Maggie, you’re the first girl I want to do things in the right order with.” He clutches onto my fingers tightly, the strong muscles in his hands gripping me. “As ridiculous as this sounds, I want you to be my real first kiss.”
I pull in some necessary oxygen. “I just don’t know how you can be twenty-two and say you’ve never really been kissed, when you’ve done all that other stuff, Ran.” I don’t know what to
say; I don’t know what to do. All I know is that I’ve been staring at those red, full lips of his the entire time he’s been speaking, and I can’t think of anything else other than pressing my mouth to his.
“I’ve never done things the right way. It’s always been backward.” He tugs me closer, pulling me from my position against the counter. The way he draws our hands up rests mine against his chest. It’s beating faster than mine, even faster than the day we raced one another down the block. “I want to do things the right way with you. You’re not just filling some void for me, Maggie. Maybe you were the void.”
“That’s what Brian always said. That there was a Maggie-shaped void in his life before we met.” I hate that I say it. I hate that I pull his awful presence into our conversation, but I can’t allow the overlap to occur. I can’t have any comparisons between Ran and Brian because Brian shattered my already broken pieces, and Ran’s supposed to be patching me back together. They’re not the same; I can’t have their words be the same.
“Okay.” He nods understandingly. “You weren’t the void, you’re right. And you’re not an escape, either. You’re just you. All on your own. It’s not like you need me to be complete or I need you, I just know that being around you makes me feel better about life. You add to me, Maggie. And I want more of you.”
The whole time we’ve been standing in the kitchen, I’ve wondered what it is about tonight that makes him want to share all of this. Why all of a sudden? And why me? There are plenty of other girls that can ‘add’ to his life. The way I am—with all of my problems and anger and bitterness—I don’t see how any part of me can be a positive addition in any way. He appears to have his own life figured out pretty well already. The only thing I think I might be adding to his is extra baggage.
“Ran.” He’s taken my hand and walked me out of the kitchen, the bag of popcorn in his other. I slide down cross-legged onto the floor next to him as he picks up a needle and fishing line from the table and begins threading it through the kernels skillfully. “Ran,” I start again, “I think there are probably many other girls out there that can add more to your life than I can. I honestly think all you get from me is a lot of unnecessary baggage.”
“You have a ton of baggage, I’ll give you that,” he says, but not at all in an insulting way. “But so do I, Maggie. It’s unrealistic to think you can go through life without filling up pieces of baggage along the way. And I’m helping you with that. Helping you slowly get rid of one piece at a time. The first being the one containing all of your hurt and hatred toward your mom.” He’s strung several dozen pieces of popcorn already while I’m still trying to knot the end of the line to start mine. “Speaking of, how is Operation TNT going?”
At the rate Ran’s threading the tree decorations, he really won’t need much help, so I just fiddle with the needle and pretend like I’m actually contributing when it’s clear that I’m not. “Okay, I guess,” I say. “I’ve done what you suggested and have maintained some kind of contact each day.” My mom and I have shared close to a dozen superficial texts over the past week, but nothing that changes anything between us. Nothing that makes me see her for anything other than the lying, selfish woman she truly is.
“And what was your latest exchange?” Ran’s garland is as long as his wingspan now. I think he’s caught on to the fact that I’m not even trying anymore, and he doesn’t object when I set my needle onto the coffee table and curl up next to Nikon by the fire instead. Nikon lets out a low, content growl when I run my fingers through his thick fur. “Did you ask her what she’s doing for Christmas?”
“Yes.” Nikon’s mouth curls into a grin—if dogs can actually do that—and his hind leg starts twitching like he’s chasing a cat. Ran lifts his eyes from his garland and smiles sweetly at the two of us.
“Has she responded?”
“No.” I unintentionally stop scratching Nikon and he looks back up at me with pleading, brown eyes. “She usually doesn’t text back until after her kids are in bed.”
“So anytime then, yeah?” Ran says, glancing at the clock. It’s a little past 9:00 p.m. and she always texts before then. There’s probably one sitting on my phone right now, actually. “Why don’t you go check?”
I look down at Nikon, who’s still begging for my fingers to rake through his coat of fur, but follow Ran’s instruction and pull my purse off the couch. Sure enough, there are two missed text messages.
“What does it say?” Ran asks as I scan over them. He’s strung at least ten feet of popcorn onto the line and rises to his feet to curl them around the tree. Folding his arms over his chest, he steps back to admire his work. “Not bad if I do say so myself.”
“She asked me to come to the cabin with them next weekend.”
I’m not sure how he maintains his footing, because Ran spins around so fast it’s like he’s a spinning top. “What?” He races toward me. “Maggie, that’s huge.”
“I’m not going.” I shove the phone into the depths of my purse and pick up the needle and a palmful of popcorn.
“You have to. This is a huge step.”
I shake my head at him in frustration. “Ran. I hate snow, I hate their cabin, and I hate her. Give me one good reason why I should go?”
“Because she invited you.” His arms are still crossed over him, and he appears sterner than I’ve ever seen him. “You go because she invited you.”
“I don’t owe her anything.”
“Maggie,” Ran says, unhooking his arms and tossing his hands into the air, “when will you get over the idea that life is all about owing people? The only person you owe anything to is yourself, and that’s the chance to prove that you’re capable of doing this.”
I look away from him and shake my head. “Ran, she’s probably drunk. She drinks every night. I doubt she even remembers sending the text.”
“Doesn’t matter.” He’s still squared off in front of me, and his tall frame would be quite imposing if I wasn’t able to detect the sincerity that is so evident in his eyes and on his face. “Text her back and tell her you’re going.”
I don’t like this Ran-tells-Maggie-what-to-do phase we’re in. I am a grown woman and am completely capable of making my own decisions. But as Ran stands there with an expectant look on his face, there’s nothing else I can do. I reluctantly yank the phone out of my purse.
My angry fingers punch out another text and after a two-minute pause—the entire duration of which Ran stares at me—my phone vibrates in my palm.
“What did she say?”
I read over her text, the shallowness still so evident even though they’re just typed, emotionless words on a screen. “She says she’s looking forward to meeting you.”
The way Ran’s eyes widen, like something pulls at their edges, almost makes me want to laugh. “What?” he chokes.
“If I have to suffer through a weekend at my mother’s cabin with her annoyingly handsome husband and her perfect little children, then you’re suffering with me.”
“Maggie,” Ran smirks devilishly, tossing a handful of popcorn my direction. “Are you asking me to go away with you?”
I lob a fistful back at him, and both Ran and the tree are dusted with popcorn.
“Oh yeah?” His eyes entice me. “Is that how this is played?”
“Uh-huh,” I grin, grabbing the entire bag in my hands.
Ran readies his stance, bending his knees slightly, his hands held out on either side, prepared to deflect my incoming attack. “You wouldn’t.”
“Oh yes I would,” I sneer, lifting the bag up over my head like I’m about to tip it over.
In one swift movement Ran springs off his feet and launches toward me, hooks his hands on my waist, and twirls me around, sending hundreds of popcorn pieces sailing into the air like a giant snow machine. His family room, the tree, Nikon—it’s all covered in fluffy white.
“Ran, stop,” I giggle as he nuzzles my neck, making me shake with laughter and causing more popcorn to escape from th
e bag. “Put me down.”
“Okay,” he agrees with a flippant shrug and tosses me to the couch. I fall back forcefully and sink into the cushions, feeling the crunch of popcorn at my back. I scoop one up and pop it in my mouth.
I don’t know why it surprises me, but when he pulls himself over me, one strong hand propping himself up on either side, my entire body goes numb. I chomp nervously at the popcorn in my mouth, crunching down on the kernel between my teeth.
Ran’s playful expression slips and the way he looks at me—the way his face almost appears pained—cause my heart to ram against my ribcage like it’s trying to get out. “Dang it, Maggie,” he sighs, narrowing the space between our faces. I feel his breath sweep over me and try hard to keep my eyes open, but something in me instinctively wants to close them shut. “You’re making this so difficult.”
“What?” I manage to squeak out. Ran moves one of his hands to my hair and pulls out a few wayward pieces of popcorn. The backs of his fingers graze down the slope of my face, over my cheekbones and down to my jaw, finally tracing the edge of my collarbone. I feel the chilling line of goose bumps arise along that same path.
“You’re making it difficult for me to do things in the right order,” he says, the tip of his index finger floating just over my mouth. My heart reacts again to his words and I feel it pulsing on my lips. I have to bite down on them to keep it all under control.
I trap in a breathe, thinking—hoping—that he’s going to replace his finger with his mouth, but instead he glides up a few inches and presses his lips onto my forehead. I finally give in and allow my eyes to close since they’ve been begging for it. The warm pressure on my skin causes something in me to flip-flop, and I have to remind myself where I am to stay in the here and now because I feel like I’m about to float out of my skin.
“Maggie,” he exhales against my forehead. The way he says my name sounds like a prayer. “I want to do this in the right order.” I nod nervously, probably too many times, but I don’t have any control over it. Over anything. “I want to do things the right way with you,” he says again, his mouth whispering against my flushed, heated skin. “But I have a feeling falling for you this soon kinda breaks that rule.”
Demanding Ransom Page 15
