Pucker Up

by Seimas, Valerie

  He closed his book. “What are you wearing?”

  “Harmony gave them to me. See this one here?” She pointed at her calf, on it a superhero with purple hair to match her purple outfit. “This person is currently staying in my guest room. It’s a little weird to wear clothes with my friend’s face on it.”

  “Tell me about it,” he murmured. He had bought every single piece of her merchandise when she was in that girl group. She’d seen her face staring back from his and Peter’s chests too many times to count. And their slogan.

  Their eyes met, and his mouth curved in an impish grin. “Pucker up.”

  “Oh yeah?” she asked, surprised at the words but only attitude in her smirk. She shouldn’t have been though – that’s where her mind had gone too.

  “Yeah,” he said, moving his book to the nightstand and crawling towards her. She shrugged before leaning forward to meet him halfway. She stopped with only a whiff of space between them, running her tongue across her bottom lip in anticipation.

  Dustin slipped a hand behind her head, into her unruly red curls, and pulled her slowly towards him until their foreheads touched. His hot breath wafted across her check, sending shivers of anticipation, of need, screaming through her. She closed her eyes against the sensation, and that’s when he closed the little space between them and kissed her.

  His lips were soft, unsteady for a moment before his tongue darted out to run along her smile, exploring the curve and coaxing her mouth open to him. He changed the angle, deepening the kiss and capturing the small moan she couldn’t stop from escaping. When she pulled away, his teeth still nibbling along her bottom lip, she could see the look of satisfaction on his face.

  He leaned back against the pillows and studied her with a raised eyebrow. “Why are you all the way over there?” he asked, motioning her over. A small shot of relief spread through her as she slipped into bed beside him; rejection always seemed to remain a possibility between them.

  He had asked her to stay; that was the opposite of rejection. And they’d fallen into a comfortable routine after that. A cooking lesson with simple caresses and quick kisses. Peter and Harmony had made themselves scarce until the smell of tarts filled the house, and then they’d descended. It wasn’t hard to see their happiness at this new comfortable demeanor, the house no longer a battlefield.

  Dinner was more of the same, full of laughter and sly looks. They regaled Harmony with stories of the old days. They tried to stay away from anything too romantic, but Faith shared too many conspiratorial glances with Dustin, remembering things that Peter didn’t know. She’d sat in her room, waiting for Dustin to come to her, and thought about what Peter had said. Was there any part of Dustin and Faith still intertwined?

  Faith laid her head against his chest, right over his heartbeat, as his hand curved around her hip, his thumb making lazy circles. She draped an arm around him as he murmured, “Peter said he’d give me a black eye if I slept with you again.”

  “The Panda is cock-blocking me?”

  Dustin laughed, and she held him a little tighter, like a moth to a flame. His other hand came to rest against her, brushing fingertips along the arm wrapped around his chest. “I’ve been told no one in the house needs their carnal education expanded. If I have any ideas, I’m to go outside.”

  She shivered, and he pulled the comforter up over them. “Outside? It’s cold out there. No thank you.”

  “Since when are you opposed to outside?” She heard the teasing in his voice as he raised her hand and laid a kiss against the inside of her wrist. She knew the memory he was thinking of and shivered for a completely different reason.

  “Thirty-year-old women are no longer turned on by the beds of pickup trucks.”

  “Pity. Thirty-year-old men have plenty of them.” His lips brushed against a curl on the crown of her head. “You were turned on by my truck?”

  “Not nearly as much as the man in it.”

  “I was quite a catch, wasn’t I?”

  Faith laughed at that. “Oh, the catchiest.”

  “Peter’s probably still a little heartbroken you chose me.” His lips rested against her temple, and her heart started beating faster.

  She knew Dustin was looking at her, could feel his eyes on her, but didn’t move. “I don’t want to have sex with you.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really. I am exhausted after last night; I can barely keep my eyes open. I just want to sleep.” She paused for a moment before adding, “With you.” Stay wrapped up in his arms where it was safe and warm and peaceful. She hadn’t felt so relaxed in years. Nights had always been the best, when they could just be and shut out everyone and everything else that followed them during the day.

  “I can probably swing that,” he said after a moment, turning off the lamp and plunging the room into darkness.

  She sighed with gratitude, nestling herself closer. His fingers still caressed her arm, hypnotically lulling her to sleep. She was close to surrendering when he whispered, “What do you think she would have been like?”

  Faith was too relaxed to stiffen, the comment not completely unexpected. “Exactly like you, I think.”

  “Stubborn.”

  “Kind,” she elaborated. “Adventurous. Lover of nature and the outdoors. One hell of a time trying to get her off a horse.”

  “Curls just like you. Blond ones,” he added, “and the same smile that I can never refuse. Your singing voice. Hopefully not your fashion sense.”

  Faith smiled at the teasing tone of his voice, so different than the one he’d had the last time they discussed her. “What’s wrong with my fashion sense?”

  “The last magazine looked like a fabric store threw up.”

  “So a tomboy then, completely unimpressed with the world of fashion or her mother the pop star.”

  “Her favorite color would be yellow,” Dustin said.

  “Her favorite color would be dirt,” Faith corrected. He chuckled at that. “She’d be thick as thieves with every single animal she came across. I imagine a few frog pond rescues sneaking their way into the house, aided and abetted by your nieces of course.”

  “They would have loved her,” he murmured.

  “Of course – everyone would.”

  He didn’t respond, and Faith wondered if he’d fallen asleep. Just as she was about to drift off, he spoke again. “How is it possible to miss something I never had?” he asked softly, his voice full of emotion.

  “You had her,” Faith answered in a whisper. “Just for nowhere near long enough.”

  Faith awoke feeling content and incredibly well-rested. Dustin was a column of warmth at her back, their hands clasped together against her chest. She’d fallen asleep in his arms, and they were still wrapped around her, making her feel like something good had come out of her vulnerability. It had been the first time she had ever voiced thoughts of their child; ten years of silence broken, and she felt freed.

  Lips brushed softly against her shoulder. “Morning,” Dustin murmured.

  “Morning,” she responded, with a smile he couldn’t see. His fingers moved beneath hers as he tried to shift away. She hooked her ankle around his and pulled their tangled legs closer. “No, no, no. I’m comfortable. Don’t move.”

  He chuckled, his breath wafting across her neck, and she shivered. “My arm is asleep underneath you.”

  “But I’m cozy, and you’re so warm.”

  “I’ll still keep you warm. I promise.”

  She sighed in response, and he moved, laying her back against the bed in the warm pocket where he had just been. He shook out his arm then propped himself up on his side beside her. He released her hand and pulled the comforter up over them both. “Isn’t this cozy?”

  “Yes,” she said, not taking her eyes off him. His fingers skimmed over her hair before continuing down her arm, their gazes never faltering.

  And then all at once, as if a shade lifted, everything was clear. A hard-working family man committed to build
ing things. An expressive singer struggling to find the place she belonged. The artist and the anchor. They saw each other as they were, simply but with resounding clarity, past the persona she always wore to the person she was underneath. And with unquestionable possibility.

  Tears sprung to her eyes, and he shushed her, wiping them away as they fell. He let his forehead rest against hers, closing his eyes against the power of the moment. Something had changed, something they couldn’t explain, but they both knew it.

  Dustin ran his knuckles along her jaw, letting his thumb rest against her chin. He parted her lips ever so slightly before kissing her, his touch both gentle and commanding. Faith wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into a tender hug when their lips parted. Letting her embrace tell him all the ways that she was sorry, all the ways that she was wrong, just as his kiss had.

  Peter looked up from the kitchen counter towards the stairs, and his heart stuttered in surprise. Dustin and Faith were coming down, together, still in their pajamas looking both well-rested and content.

  “Good morning,” he said, confusion lacing his tone.

  “Good morning,” Faith answered, coming forward to survey the food he’d laid out. Dustin stopped beside her, and it looked suspiciously like his hand settled on her lower back. Peter tried to catch his brother’s eyes, but he was not complying. “This looks delicious.”

  “Thanks.”

  Faith shivered slightly, running her hands up and down her arms. “Are you cold?” Dustin asked.

  “A little,” she responded with a smile.

  “Here,” he said, removing his shirt and handing it to her. Peter’s mouth dropped open as she pulled it over her head with a grateful look. Dustin pulled a stool out for her, and she took a seat, propping her feet up on the one next to it.

  A timer went off, and Peter turned to grab the coffee cake out of the oven. What was going on? What year was this? Was he still asleep? He peeked over his shoulder to look at them. Faith grabbed a slice of bacon, broke it in half, and offered some to Dustin. His hand was definitely stroking her back as he took it, and she leaned into him, against his bare chest, as she ate.

  Ten years Peter had been treating this day the same way – waiting on Dustin, always close to breaking, trying to chase the haunted look out of his eyes with exhaustion, trying to forget. But he had been wrong; they both had. Remembering, it seemed, had brought the peace Dustin had been searching for. And maybe something more.

  Peter set the pan on the counter and stared at them. They smiled back at him, their free hands tracking back together, fingers entwined. He started to speak but was interrupted by the sound of footsteps on the stairs. “Good morning, all!”

  “Morning, Peaches,” Peter responded with a pointed look at his twin. Dustin grabbed a hoodie from the jacket hook and slipped it on, zipping it all the way up.

  “Good morning, Harm,” Dustin said as he reached for the carafe of orange juice. Harmony had just stopped at Peter’s side, and he felt her stiffen in shock at those words. This morning was never good, the greeting never verbalized, the tone never light. Her eyes got wide, and she looked at her father. He knew what she was thinking; he was thinking the exact same thing.

  “I didn’t realize how hungry I was until I smelled all this good stuff,” Faith said.

  Dustin smiled at her as he handed her a plate. “Peter makes the best breakfasts. You’d love his chocolate raspberry French toast.”

  “Oh my God, I would.”

  Her eyes met his, and she smiled sincerely. “Be nice to the Panda, and maybe I’ll make it for you some time,” Peter said.

  “Want to meet any musicians? I also know a superhero or two.” Her eyes sparkled with joy, and Peter knew why his brother had spent a decade trying to forget her. An invitation impossible to resist lounged behind them. Peter watched as she looked at Dustin, and they shared a smile. He couldn’t stop himself from smiling either.

  Chapter 16

  Faith looked at yesterday’s clothes sitting on the end of her bed. They’d seen her through an interesting day. Of course to be fair, everything about this trip had been interesting. Nothing at all like she’d expected. Then again what she’d expected – empty house, awkward small talk, innocent delivery – was completely ridiculous. And probably all just a lie she told herself to get in the car.

  The door opened behind her, and she turned as Dustin entered. “You didn’t knock,” she said.

  “My house,” he answered. He slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her up against him, his lips brushing against her ear. “Why are you worried? You got something else to hide?”

  She cringed at his words, knowing she did. The divorce papers couldn’t stay in her purse forever. “How much more do you want to see?” she deflected.

  “Not sure how much more I can handle.” He leaned his forehead against the top of her head and took a deep breath. He exhaled on a shudder, but she didn’t wonder why – the scent of lemons still clung to her skin. “I brought you some more clothes.”

  She pulled away to look at him. “What do you take me for? A celebrity who needs to wear a different outfit every day?”

  He returned her teasing grin. “We treat our guests like royalty around here.”

  Faith stared at the things he tossed on the bed. They were very familiar. She stepped out of his embrace and reached for them. “These are my clothes,” she whispered, fingering the fabrics.

  “They are. Practically vintage now.”

  “You kept them.”

  “I kept everything.”

  Like her heart, Faith thought. Had he made space for that in his closet, too?

  “Let me know if you need something else.”

  “Where are you going?”

  Dustin grinned. “To go lay under a car and find out why it doesn’t want to leave.”

  “Maybe it’s in love with the tree,” Faith mused.

  “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

  He walked out the door, and she collapsed on the end of the bed, drawing the clothes into her lap. She never would have thought he was this sentimental. Then again, she hadn’t thought he cared enough to want her to stay. She’d underestimated him a decade ago and every day since.

  She dressed and made her way downstairs. Harmony smiled at her from the kitchen. “Want to help?”

  “With what?” Faith looked skeptical. “I’m pretty much a disaster in the kitchen.”

  “I’m getting lunch ready. Chicken salad sandwiches, fruit salad, and chocolate chip cookies. How are you with a knife?”

  Faith held up her bandaged finger. “Already have one battle wound from it.”

  “Well then, you’ve already learned what not to do – you’re halfway there.”

  “You’re easily impressed,” Faith said with a grin. “I will attempt to chop fruit and leave all limbs attached.” Harmony handed her a flannel apron and positioned her in front of a cutting board. “Did Peter teach you how to cook?”

  Harmony laughed. “Now you’re easily impressed; this barely qualifies as cooking. Dad has perfected exactly three things – chocolate raspberry French toast, coffee cake, and hash. Just enough to get by when Uncle Dust has to go in early. No, Uncle Dust taught me. He’s awesome in the kitchen.”

  “Really?” Faith was impressed even though she’d already seen his tart skills. When they were together, they were both hopeless in the kitchen. Apparently she was the only one that stayed that way.

  “Oh yeah. That dinner the first night was all him. We have an herb garden and a vegetable garden out back. He makes amazing gnocchi in brown butter. Oh and the best lemon curd ever, by far.”

  “Lemon curd?”

  “Yeah, you use it to make lemon meringue pies,” Harmony said as she slipped a pan of cookies in the oven. “Dad thinks Uncle Dust taught me and Mel how to cook so he wouldn’t have to admit he makes the best pies in the county. Seriously, he won a blue ribbon at the fair once.

  “And we make lemon bars with it, ricotta panca
kes, ice cream. Tastes good with berries or oatmeal, so we eat it a lot for breakfast, too. And it’s weird because Uncle Dust doesn’t ever eat it, but he is always making it.” Faith understood that. His own version of branding – even with the tree right outside the window, he needed to feel it closer. Maybe they were more alike than she thought.

  “Sounds delicious,” she murmured, not looking up from the fruit she was slicing. “I love anything with lemons.”

  “I guessed that. You do smell like lemons after all.” Harmony took something out of the freezer and placed it next to Faith. “Can I ask you a question?”

  Faith glanced at the mason jar and raised an eyebrow at the teenager. “Why do I feel like this is a bribe?”

  “Whatever do you mean?” Harmony asked. But her eyes sparkled with impish delight.

  “Uh huh.” Faith ran a finger around the lip of the jar, ice radiating through her. “Ask, and then I’ll decide if I’m going to answer.”

  “I’m not going to extort your bank password or anything. I just want to know why Uncle Dust calls you Ally.”

  “Oh, is that all?” Faith looked up and saw the confusion on Harmony’s face; she had caught the sarcasm.

  “I didn’t realize it was a touchy subject. I’m sorry.” The teenager looked away, and Faith sighed in frustration. She used to love the story of how they met – until her friend made it into a TV movie. The characters there got a happy ending; real life was far less lucky, cameras continuing to roll, no fade to black. Now it felt like it wasn’t hers anymore.

  Which then inspired the Andy Peters song Paper Trains. About a girl trying to ride off into the sunset, never realizing her expectations were about as realistic as paper trains. Paper Trains, of course, ending up on the score of that very same movie back before anyone cared about the secretive songwriter. How much more meta could one life be?

  “Ally was the alias I was using when I met him and your dad. Unless you want people knowing where to find you, you don’t use your own name. And I wasn’t looking for anyone to find me. Except then your uncle did.” Faith shook her head, trying to dispel the poetry of that thought, and returned to slicing pears. “So Dustin calls me Ally, and Peter calls me East, and none of them are my actual name. I’m a nickname nomad.”