Delicate

by K. L. Cottrell

  Soon, we’re going still.

  Sighing.

  Slackening into satisfaction with his face in my shoulder and my lips on his.

  Breathing isn’t easy, but we don’t try to unwind ourselves from this embrace. Not yet.

  We let these moments linger on.

  There are things to deal with, including our wet clothes, but they can wait.

  By the time our breaths are more settled, I believe I’ve written my name on his bare skin fifty times with my lips and fingertips. His fingers unlace from mine so his thumb can graze the inside of my wrist, back and forth, setting gentle sparks into my nerve endings.

  At last, we shift to see each other’s face and further lessen some of his weight on me. Once more, his arms form something of a cage on either side of my head.

  A look of tenderness grows between us.

  “Hi,” I whisper.

  “Hi,” he whispers back.

  The combination of how solid he is, his thumb stroking my wrist, and his other fingers finding my hair again makes me shiver.

  His half-smile is soft and sated, and so are his eyes as they drift over my face.

  “I wouldn’t take the chance if I had it, you know,” he tells me in a throaty murmur. “The chance to go back and do things differently. To fall for someone else so you and I could avoid the ways we hurt during all this. To avoid how complicated it got.”

  I inhale deeply, then swallow at the sudden knot of emotion in my throat.

  His eyes are ocean water and sunshine, just the way I love them to be.

  His whisper is back. “Loving you makes everything about me better.”

  My fingers stroke at his darkened hair, his temple and scar, the light scruff on his jaw.

  “Thank you,” I breathe out. “This love makes me better too.”

  He tilts his face to my fingers and nuzzles them, then curves a fuller smile at me—a perfect smile.

  I can’t wait to keep living in this with him.

  This peace. This happiness.

  We deserve peace and happiness.

  And we deserve each other.

  —

  We share easy laughs while we finally undress so we can shower, but our amusement is breathless—and blushing, to tell the truth.

  I haven’t been naked in front of anyone in a long time, and he’s never been naked in front of me, though there was that nothing-but-a-towel thing the other day…. Here and now, a certain degree of shyness can’t be helped. It’s a new form of honesty to stand in front of each other like this.

  We wait outside the shower so the rushing water can warm up, and in the meantime, we let eyes and hands wander.

  Chill bumps awaken even as cheeks tinge pink. Breaths refuse to stop hitching.

  His gentle fingertips follow the curves of my breasts, then my waist. His thumbs brush at the soft points of my hipbones.

  I touch his scarred left shoulder, and down the middle of his chest to his navel, and down the outsides of his thighs.

  We touch each other everywhere.

  My God, he’s gorgeous. He’s just a normal guy, strong yet not super toned, but I appreciate and am attracted as hell to everything about him. What’s even more gorgeous is that I know how his body feels; I know what it’s like to hug him, snuggle with him, hold hands with him, be wrapped all around him.

  It’s breathtaking, yes, to know Beckett Slater the way I do.

  It’s equally breathtaking to be at the center of his attention in these moments—as if it isn’t a gift even in the most ordinary ones—because there’s so much emanating from him. There’s more adoration. There’s a hint of reluctance, like part of him can’t believe I’m really his to gaze upon and touch this way, even after everything we’ve done. And then there’s a thrum of intensity because the rest of him knows I am his, and he thinks I’m gorgeous, too, and he loves my unabashed attention as much as I love his.

  In the shower, it feels deeply intimate to stand beneath the warm spray in a slick embrace, our arms looped comfortingly around each other, my cheek to his shoulder, his head resting on my hair.

  Having our bodies pressed together like this, so simply yet so tremendously close…it stirs me in ways I didn’t know I could be stirred, soothes parts of me I didn’t know needed soothing.

  Oh, to be able to stay here forever.

  However, not only is that quite unfeasible, but we also need to call Theo soon; we don’t want her to fall asleep without getting to talk to her beloved Uncle Beck.

  Plus….

  Grinning into his delightfully balmy skin, I tell him, “If sex was your secret plan for getting me happy enough to play a video game, I must admit it worked.”

  I get a burst of laughter from him just like earlier at dinner. I don’t know which is better: the ring of it around the shower and the bathroom beyond, or the way it shakes both his body and mine.

  He hugs me tighter. “It wasn’t, but that doesn’t change your level of happiness, so no takebacks.”

  Giggling, I drag a kiss over to his collarbone.

  Then I think again about what we said before we withdrew ourselves from each other on my bed.

  Even if I had the chance to, I wouldn’t give my new love to anyone other than him.

  Falling for him was easy—so easy I didn’t realize I was doing it—and accepting it had happened was difficult. Of all the people my frail heartstrings could’ve crept out toward, why did they choose Cliff’s best friend?

  I know now that it’s because my heart saw no limits, only truth. It grew to care more about who Beckett had become to me than about who he was to Cliff. It had been beaten black and blue, so it chose the only person who could heal and match and guard it in all the ways I would ever need.

  I’m grateful for that.

  I’m grateful to my heart for leading me while my head was elsewhere, because if I had noticed where I was going any sooner, I wouldn’t have been able to understand it. I struggled hard enough with it after I did notice—if it had come to light before then, I would’ve been utterly unprepared. I would’ve dug my heels into the ground, shut down, refused to move another inch. And there’s no doubt in my mind that doing so would’ve hurt me, not to mention Beckett and Theodora.

  His fingertips trace my spine with lazy affection, one after another.

  Shuddering with liking, I curl into him. I touch my lips to his skin once more.

  I don’t think we’re supposed to understand everything about life. I don’t think the beauty of our time here comes from being in constant control.

  I think what we’re supposed to do is just live and, along the way, appreciate all the things we somehow find ourselves blessed with.

  - 25 -

  B E C K E T T

  now

  Saturday morning in Noelle’s kitchen is picture-perfect.

  The sun somehow found its way out of yesterday’s rain, and it fills the room through the window blinds we opened. Her tulips are the color of flames where they’re on display on the dining table. We’re standing near the aromatic coffee pot, waiting for it to finish brewing. I’m in pajamas and so is she where she stands in front of me with her back to my chest, but she’s far lovelier than I am; her hair has been cutely tugged up into a knot and, once again, she’s in soft pants and a thin-strapped top.

  My arms are banded high and cozy around her shoulders. She strokes at them with fingertips that feel more and more preoccupied the further we slip into the quietude following our light chatter about her wanting some Funyuns and me wanting some caramels.

  I drift into thought myself when I realize how similar and different this day is from the one we woke to after the deer accident. That was the day we went to the park—Funyuns made an appearance then, too, and so did caramels because I put one in my fresh cup of coffee. But although I touched Noelle that morning in this very place we’re standing, things weren’t relaxed like they are now. I was partly in denial about what I felt for her and entirely afraid of it.

 
; She turns her head to touch a kiss to my right bicep, and I glance down and remember where the seatbelt scrape used to be on her neck. Remember how she worried about it and how I calmed her.

  My arm is blessed with another feather-light kiss. I lift my other hand and brush my knuckles over where I touched her neck that day.

  The breath she draws is slow. Serene.

  Same goes for me, I guess, since my breathing matches—

  “Will you move in with us?”

  The rush of her question over me is not slow.

  It zips into me starting where her lips are on my skin, sweeps across all the tiny hairs on my body, wreaks that Noelle-only havoc on my pulse and my lungs. Then it burrows into my chest like everything else she says and does.

  I didn’t know when this subject might come up, but I can’t find anything wrong with it happening now.

  With gentle hands, I urge her to turn around. As she faces me, her hands find my waist and her lips almost, almost find mine—our breaths are quick now with pleasant surprise, our gazes catching.

  She steals a kiss from me before I can steal one from her; it ends almost as quickly as it started.

  Can’t have that.

  I slip my hands up to cradle her head, then take her mouth with intent. A pleased sound leaves her. As her welcoming touch spreads to my back, the sweet havoc grows stronger, goes deeper.

  My mind echoes with her question and the answer I have for it.

  My body hums from our closeness and flickering memories of last night—us kissing even more heatedly than this, not having the patience to undress before we surrendered to each other, emotion gripping me just as tightly as she was, me knowing I had never genuinely made love to anyone before her because my heart wasn’t with any of the girls I had in the past. And, God, the way it felt for us to come together after all of it, after everything….

  Best night of my life so far.

  This morning after has been the best so far too.

  I further it by ending our kisses with my murmured answer. “I’ll leave my apartment so fast, Ellie. Just tell me when you want me to do it, and I’ll do it.”

  She tips her face back from mine and spears me with a grin so bright it challenges the sunlight streaming in from outside.

  I soak it up to the point that I start grinning too. There’s no resisting; I’m as happy as she is.

  After another second, I brush a thumb down her cheek, just shy of the corner of her lips.

  My heartbeat skips, and my voice falls to a whisper.

  “I’m so ready to take on the rest of this life with you.”

  Her nod is slight, but her expression still teems with that sunny joy.

  “I’m ready too,” she tells me. “Even on the hard days, life with you is gonna be one hundred. I already know it.”

  That has my heart swelling.

  I huff out a breathless laugh.

  “Yeah,” I agree, stroking her cheek again, “it’s a given that it’ll be one hundred, huh? Since it already is?”

  After the words have left me, I realize they kind of make it sound like I’m talking myself up or something. My intention had been to reciprocate the sentiment—she knows life with me is going to be amazing, and I know that about her right back because I’ve already seen a ton of proof of it.

  I inhale to apologize and amend what I said.

  But she’s nodding once more, her eyes full of warm understanding.

  She’s saying, “That’s right,” with her own light laugh. “We’ve been one hundred to each other for a long time. There’s no stopping it now.”

  I don’t need to apologize or correct myself at all. She didn’t hear me as weirdly as I heard myself; she picked up on the heart of what I said with no problem.

  Such a satisfying realization.

  Small though a moment like this may seem, the truth behind it is immense. One of the things I’ve learned about being in love is that it doesn’t work without the little things. The big things are important, no question—trust and attraction and agreeing on certain major points—but the small details woven between those pillars are what fill a relationship in. The moments that foster familiarity and laughter and thoughtfulness. The times that show off how well you get each other, how solid you are together, how complete you make each other feel.

  And this isn’t only true of romantic relationships—it’s also true of friendships.

  I know that for a fact.

  I have learned about honest, unwavering love from the greatest people in the world. Including Theodora, even, not just Noelle and Cliff.

  Love helps you become a better person.

  Labels and titles mean nothing on their own. A guy may call himself your friend, but does he treat you like you matter? A girl may trade declarations of devotion with you, but does your relationship fulfill both of you? A kid may look up to you like you’re her hero, but have you earned it?

  “What’s wrong, Beck?”

  I blink and register the soft worry with which Noelle is regarding me.

  I notice I’ve…well, I’ve grown just a bit emotional.

  But I smile.

  Those questions in my head have the best—the best—answers because, for me, they’re all yeses.

  Cliff truly did have my back. Noelle and I really do fit each other. Theodora puts her trust in me because I’ve proved myself worthy of it.

  Puzzlement has touched Noelle’s pretty face now. Sighing, I tuck back the wisps of hair that are framing her ears because they weren’t long enough to make it into her messy bun.

  Through the slight ache in my throat, I tell her, “Not one single thing is wrong. I’m just thinking about how good it feels to love and be loved.”

  The ache worsens for a sharp second, but I keep talking.

  “I wouldn’t know what real love is without you and Theo and Cliff. So thank you.”

  She inhales deeply, and her hands start up a comforting rub at my back. Her eyes brim with more of that gorgeous understanding—and the sweet smile she gives me turns her straight-up stunning.

  “You’re welcome,” she murmurs. “You had it coming, though. You’re lovable.”

  Once again, her smile is contagious.

  I could remind her that I spent painfully long years not feeling lovable at all, then spent many more struggling to dismantle that feeling. Could remind her of how difficult it is to scrub away doubt and worry and self-consciousness and old insults. Could remind her of how my parents’ insistence that I wasn’t lovable lingers on my skin in a handful of places.

  There’s no need, though.

  There’s no need to shadow her valuable words with ghosts of the past, because even though those ghosts will stay with me in some ways, the truth is they have served their purpose: they helped form my bond with Cliff. The rest is cherished history that deserves to shine.

  It’s not accurate to say the people who treat us poorly in life don’t matter—of course they matter. They shape us in big ways. But the people who matter most are the ones who treat us well.

  So, no, I don’t dwell on the times I didn’t feel like I was worth anything, and I don’t mention them to Noelle.

  I just tell her again, “Thank you.”

  And only now does the silence around us catch up to my brain—I realize quite belatedly that the coffee is done brewing.

  As I lean in to get ready for another kiss, a grin overtakes me.

  “I don’t know about you,” I say, “but I forgot about the coffee.”

  She grins, too, with her eyes dancing over my face. “Well, of course I forgot about it. You’re a fantastic distraction.”

  That makes me laugh, but I still go in for the kiss.

  She presses her lips firmly to mine, and her hands on my back become arms around my waist. Some of my fingertips find their way into the underside of her pulled-up hair; the light shudder they get out of her has us smiling away from each other’s lips.

  My gentle untying of her bun has her breathing spee
ding up a little.

  Her hair falls loose and her hands move again—this time, they dip down and underneath the bottom of my shirt. I pull a slow breath in through my nose as their tips track over my skin and again make me remember…make me want….

  “I would be happy to keep distracting you,” I whisper suggestively, “if you wanted me to.”

  She gets her lips back on mine only for the kiss to end with her nod.

  She says breathily, “Last night was amazing. I don’t know if I remembered to tell you that, but babe, it was. It really was.”

  I’m the one shivering now because she’s tugging my shirt up to take it off. The air in here hadn’t been noticeably cool before, but it feels that way now as it greets my warming skin.

  I voice my agreement: “Best night I’ve ever had.”

  As soon as I’m bare-chested, I go for her pajama top in return. It doesn’t get pulled off quite as quickly—I don’t know which of us started up a new kiss in the middle of this, but it has happened and split our attention.

  We’re not in any hurry, though.

  The earnest rush of our first time together was perfect, but I intend to go so much slower this time, and I start here. I enjoy every second of her mouth moving with mine, one of my arms hugging her to me, the other hand having paused gathering her shirt halfway up her back.

  I’m not quite sure how long we stand here this way.

  At length, we remember the blinds being open, so we grin and joke our way into the living room before I finally slip her shirt over her head. Her long hair spills down her shoulders and chest, and even with this room being less lit than the kitchen, I have no trouble seeing how lovely she is.

  I see it even better once she’s laid out across the couch with nothing on her body but my touch and the slight shadow of me kneeling over her.

  I’m struck by the familiar feeling of humble awe that this is my life.

  Sometimes I’m still not used to how things have turned out for us.