Kindred Souls

by Ellie Wade

  I lean back against the hard bark of the broad oak. “You brought me to the college kids’ make-out spot?” I raise a brow and drape my arms over Amos’s shoulders.

  Amos drags his bottom lip through his teeth and takes me in. Lifting his arm, he wipes a piece of hair from my face and tucks it behind my ear. “I never thought I’d be here with you.” his voice is low and reverent. He chuckles under his breath. “I almost can’t believe it.” His deep brown gaze captures mine. I’ve always known that Amos loved me, but now, looking into his eyes, I’m starting to realize just how much and in what way. The intensity of his love lights my core aflame and causes pressure to build within my chest.

  His lips, perfectly full and inviting, call to me. I run my thumb over them, and he kisses it. Amos has always been beautiful, but up close, like this, he’s even more so.

  His fingers circle my wrist, and he lowers his mouth to my skin. His eyes hold my gaze. Leisurely, he peppers kisses on my hand and up my arm, over my shoulder, and up my neck. He takes my head between the palms of his hands, closes the gap between us, and kisses me so softly that my lips quiver against his. His mouth worships mine in its own time, savoring the connection. An intense and visceral need consumes me, and I pull his head closer, needing more. A myriad of emotions course through me as he claims my mouth with his tongue. I focus on the ones that bring me joy at this moment.

  He kisses me thoroughly against the tree where hundreds of college students have done the same, but I can guarantee that none of them were kissed like this. Pulling away, he nuzzles his nose against my earlobe.

  “Better than my dreams.” He kisses the base of my neck and steps back, a smile forming on his face, lighting up his eyes. The love I see dancing in his gaze makes my heart twist a little.

  I circle his waist with my arms and hug him, resting my face against his chest. My entire body hums over the kiss. An awareness of something greater saturates the air, and deep within is the knowledge that if I’m brave enough to accept it—it’ll change my life.

  “Do you want to come in?” I ask Amos. We stand on the front porch. He faces me, and his hands hold mine.

  He shakes his head. “No, I don’t think so. I mean, don’t get me wrong. I want to, but it’s probably not the best idea on a first date.” He quirks a brow and scrunches his nose, causing me to laugh.

  “Come on. Love and Lee-Anne will want to see you anyway.” I tilt my head, motioning toward the entry door.

  “No.” He grins. “Tell them we’ll all do dinner tomorrow. Tonight was a big deal, our first date. You need time to decompress. I want to do this right. I want this to work, Alma.”

  “You’re afraid of me getting scared and freaking out?” I ask, my lips puckering as my eyebrows rise.

  He levels a gaze at me, one full of understanding and adoration. “A little bit. Yeah,” he admits. “I know this is a big deal for you, and I get it. We should take things slow.”

  “Okay, if you’re sure.”

  “I’m sure.” His lips press against mine in a chaste kiss. “I had fun tonight. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Bye.” I wave. He gets in his car and drives away, and I already miss him.

  Love runs toward me when I open the door, and I scoop her up in a hug. “Hey, Love bug. How’s your night been with Gigi?”

  “Good! We had worms and tomatoes for dinner!”

  “Worms and tomatoes?” I scrunch up my face.

  “Also known as spaghetti.” Lee-Anne laughs.

  “Did it taste like spaghetti?” I ask, amused.

  “Yes,” Lee-Anne states. “It was very good. I actually pureed the carrots and spinach before adding them to the sauce, so she didn’t even know they were there.”

  “I’m sure it was delicious!” I squeeze Love.

  “Where’s Cookie?” Love asks.

  “He had to go home but wants to have dinner with us tomorrow. So, tell me, what else did you do while I was gone?”

  “We colored,” Love says.

  “You did? Let me see.” I set Love down, and she leads me to the table where dozens of crayons and pieces of paper are scattered about. She shows me all of her creations before running off to pick out which bath bomb she wants after I tell her it’s bath time.

  Lee-Anne grabs my wrist. “So, how was it?”

  “It was really great.” My lips press together in a smile. “He took me to that fondue place downtown. The meal was amazing, of course. We talked a lot about everything. After dinner, we walked around town, and that’s about it.”

  “You fooled around a little, right?” Lee-Anne looks mildly disappointed with the details of my night.

  “Yes.” I chuckle. “There was kissing.”

  “Well, it’s something,” she states.

  “Mom.” I smack her arm playfully. “It was our first date.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Please, Almalee. You and that boy have been on hundreds of dates.”

  “As friends. It’s different,” I say, picking up the crayons from the table and placing them in their box.

  She smiles. “Well, I’m just glad you went and had fun, and that you’re trying.” She grasps my arms and squeezes tight. “This is good.” She drops her hands. “I should go and let you have time with Love before bed.”

  “Okay, well, you know you’re welcome to stay,” I offer, as I always do.

  “No, I should get home, but I’ll see you bright and early in the morning.” She leans in and kisses my cheek. “Buenas noches, mi amor.”

  “Night, Mom. Thanks for watching Love.”

  “Anytime.”

  I follow her upstairs. While she says goodbye to love, I take off my dress and throw on my leggings and tank top. Stepping into the bathroom, Love has her bath bomb basket out. Each multicolored bomb is set out in a straight line across the tiled floor.

  “Did you decide which one you want tonight?”

  “This one!” she holds up a multihued purple bomb in the shape of a mermaid tail.

  “Ooh, great choice.”

  I run the bath, and Love steps in. She giggles as the mermaid tail starts to fizz vibrant colors in the water.

  “Momma, what’s a date?”

  “What?” I question.

  “Gigi said you and Cookie were on a date.”

  “Oh.” I nod in understanding. “Well, a date is when two people go out together to do something fun, like dinner or a movie.”

  “Like the beach?”

  “Exactly. We had a beach date yesterday. Tonight, Amos and I went on a dinner date.”

  I feel like I should talk to her about Amos, but I don’t know how to approach it. He spends most days over here already, so that wouldn’t be anything that I’d need to run by her. Amos and I have always been affectionate toward each other, so even that wouldn’t be a change. She’s never seen me romantically date a man before so she doesn’t have a frame of reference for how it differs from the life we already share with Amos.

  “I really like Amos,” I tell her.

  “Me too!” she exclaims, swishing her Ariel doll in the water.

  That works.

  16

  Alma

  The Lair was insanely busy today, so basically, the same as any other day. I was able to share a few stolen glances with Amos as we passed in the hallway on our way to separate meetings. The goose bump-inducing electricity of a new relationship lingers in the air. That spark is thrilling, bursting with a possibility that wasn’t there before.

  I found myself nervously anticipating our shared moments, however brief they were. There wasn’t time for anything substantial in terms of our newly budding courtship. The day was absent of kisses and deep conversations, but it was exhilarating just the same. The idea of something greater, alone, made the world seem a little brighter.

  I’m noticing things about him, too. Perhaps, I didn’t allow myself to see his little traits that make my heart beat faster before. Self-preservation at its finest. The absence of these minute details enabl
ed me to live in the friendship zone without question. And, man…I was happy there, in that place of security and comfort and unconditional love.

  But now…

  It’s irrevocably changed. It’s different, and despite the promise that our friendship is untouchable, should our relationship go south, I know the change is permanent. Some things can’t be unseen. Unfelt.

  I watch the muscles in his forearm move, ever so slightly, as he chops onions into slices on the cutting board. His skin is perfection, smooth, and a deep espresso. My fingertips tingle, the desire to trace the lines and ridges of his body calls to me.

  Pulling my bottom lip between my teeth, I admire Amos’s mouth. His lips, full and inviting, have always been gorgeous, but I’m just now noticing the way his bottom lip is slightly larger, a little more plump. It’s like a siren calling out to me, and I can imagine pulling it into my mouth.

  He smiles wide, laughing with Love, who sits on the counter watching him prepare dinner. Nothing is more devastatingly beautiful than Amos Davis in a full-blown smile. He wears his black-rimmed glasses that make him even sexier.

  “You’re gonna cry.” Amos smiles to Love.

  She folds her arms over her chest. “No, you are.”

  I click a mental picture of the sight before me. My two favorite people.

  “Why are we crying?” I lift a brow.

  Amos’s lips tug up at the corners as he turns toward me. “The onions. I told Love to back up because they might bother her eyes and make her cry, but she says she’s too tough for that,” he says in jest.

  “I very tough,” Love states.

  “You are,” I agree. “You’re my super tough, princess girl.”

  I stand opposite Amos on the other side of the countertop and wrap my arms around Love. “These onions are pretty mild, so we should be okay, but there are some types that make Mommy cry every time.”

  “Not me,” Love protests.

  “Okay, not you.” I kiss her temple and raise my eyes to meet Amos’s. “Dinner smells delicious. I can’t wait to eat.”

  He’s making fajitas, and the spicy scent throughout the kitchen is intoxicating.

  “All in good time.” He grins before swiping the vegetables from the cutting board into the frying pan. The slices of steak and chicken are in another skillet. He’s keeping the veggies away from the meat so that Lee-Anne can eat them. He’s always been so considerate of others.

  Sometimes the smallest gestures, the ones that take no real effort just the courtesy to make them in the first place, are the greatest acts of love. I think the world has lost a little of that kindness, but Amos is one of the good ones. His heart is unyielding in its desire to serve others, and he’s always been that way.

  “Love, you want to help me set the table?” I ask.

  She nods and stands on the granite with her arms extended. I scoop her up and swing her off the counter. “No feet on the counter, Love bug.”

  “We may sit on the counter but not stand,” Amos teases.

  “Exactly. Butts are fine. Feet cross the line. It’s called logic.” I eye him, my lips puckered.

  He chuckles. “Of course. Solid logic there.”

  I hand Love the plates, and she carries them to the table. I reach for the knob to the silverware drawer, and my arm brushes Amos’s, sending a buzz over my skin. I lift my gaze toward him, and his eyes lock on mine, a knowing smile on his face. He looks to Love, who’s occupied at the table, and presses a gentle kiss to my lips.

  My mouth stretches into a grin, and I quickly grab the silverware I need. The wide grin never leaves my face as I help Love with the table setting. A small part of me feels silly, my behavior and feelings reminiscent of a thirteen-year-old girl with her first crush. Yet a much bigger part couldn’t care less if I resemble an entire cheer squad of teen girls with crushes. I’m ridiculously happy.

  Table set, I make my way into the living room where Lee-Anne gawks at the TV, an old episode of Survivor on. It’s her current binge show. She’s on season three, I believe.

  “You know, I don’t understand why they complain so much. So they can’t shower and have to eat bugs and grass. I could do that. Hell, I have done that. Your father and I spent some time in very free and natural communes. I swear, we had a friend once who went months between showers. I could win this show.”

  “I’m sure you could, Mom.”

  “Look at this guy.” She motions toward a bright-eyed, curly-haired hottie on the screen. “Is he not the most adorable guy you’ve ever seen?”

  “He’s pretty cute,” I admit.

  “His name is Ethan. Whew, he’s a beautiful man. Too young for me, of course, but very attractive.”

  “This was filmed a long time ago, Mom. I think he’s actually in his late forties right now, but I believe he is happily married.”

  “Hmm.” She sounds disappointed. “How do you know about Ethan? You haven’t watched this, have you?”

  “No, but I’ve read about him or seen him in the news here or there over the years. These contestants are pretty much celebrities when they leave the show.”

  “Well, I really like him. I hope he wins the million.”

  “Maybe he will,” I say, leaning over the back of the sofa. “Dinner is almost ready. Amos has the veggies cooking now, and he made some black beans. Anything else?”

  “Yes, can you get out my chia and flax tortillas from the refrigerator. I’ll use those.”

  “Sure.” I push off the couch and head back toward the kitchen. Love is sitting at the table, her tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth as she tries to fold a cloth napkin. “What are you doing?” I question with a chuckle.

  “Making chickens.”

  “You want the napkins to be in the shape of chickens? I don’t know, Love Dove. That’s pretty hard. I can’t even do that. Why don’t you go pick out a special ring for everyone’s napkins?”

  She looks up from the piece of cloth in front of her, eyes wide and excited as if she’s just remembering the drawer of napkin rings that we’ve acquired over the past couple of years. Darting from the table, her little feet pad across the tiled floor until she reaches the drawer. It’s a treasure chest of large rings. Love and I picked out each one on our adventures, with a good portion acquired at the local art fair. Some are wooden, painted in vibrant colors, others are shaped from metals, and a few are ceramic—all of them special to us.

  My parents didn’t believe in waste. I didn’t grow up with paper towels or napkins, and it’s one thing from my youth I’ve carried into adulthood. However, unlike my childhood where the same towel was used to dry off after a shower, wipe the kitchen counters, or clean my face, I’ve invested in a variety of colorful cloth squares to use at meals.

  Love chooses four hoops and eagerly carries them to the table. She begins to pull the cloth through the first one.

  “Which holders did you pick?” I ask her.

  “The penguin, pink flower, banana, and pig,” she says proudly.

  “Oh, great choices.”

  Amos is plating up the food. I grab my mom’s tortillas from the refrigerator. “Mom would like her chia and flax tortillas. But I will be sticking to the processed white flour ones.” I grin.

  “I think I will too.” He puts a stack of tortillas in the warmer and places them in the microwave. “I’ll just warm these up, and then we’re ready.”

  “Pause your love affair with Ethan, Mom. It’s time to eat.” I call out loud enough so that my mother can hear over the grunting contestants completing a physical challenge on the TV.

  “Should I ask?” Amos questions with a smirk.

  “Survivor.”

  “Ah.” He nods in understanding.

  We sit down in the dining room and dish the food onto our plates. I look around the table and can’t help but think how perfect this picture is. Love two fists her tortilla, holding it tightly as she determinedly takes a bite. Mom jammers on about Ethan, the survivor’s athletic ability. He’s a pro
fessional soccer player, you know? While Amos plays a flirtatious game of footsie with me under the table.

  I’m drowning in this blissful utopia, and I don’t want to come up for air. I need the baggage and emotional realities of this entire situation to stay far away, up in the clouds where they can’t touch me. This. These people. This feeling. I need it more than my next breath.

  Lee-Anne finishes her summary of the most recent episode of Survivor and dishes some black beans onto her flax and chia wrap.

  “Mom, tell us something you’re grateful for today,” I say to the woman who barely knew me just a few short years ago. The woman who I can say I love now more than I ever have.

  We started these grateful dinner time chats a month ago. I don’t remember to do them every night, but I’m trying to stay consistent. I’m slowly building traditions into Love’s life, as I think of them, one’s that will help her become a healthy and happy woman someday. I want her to have everything I didn’t and truly feel that she’s loved unconditionally. I want to give her the childhood that I dreamed about, and it’s never been about material things for me. It’s about time with the ones we love and knowing that we’re valued and cherished. My parents never made me feel like my existence mattered, and I need Love to know, that, for me—her existence is everything.

  She saved me.

  She was a parting gift from her dad that gave me the strength to continue living when I wanted to give up. She allowed me to feel joy when I was surrounded by darkness and love when my heart was shattered from pain. She’s my miracle, and every second with her is a blessing.

  Lee-Anne sets down her glass of water. “Well, today Lovie and I went walking through town, and there’s this new shop with all sorts of things. It’s very eclectic and hip. Anyway, they had a glass jar of this lavender spice that I’ve been searching everywhere for. I couldn’t believe it. Right there, on the shelf with the candles and notecards, was a bottle of this spice that I’ve needed for so long.” She clasps her hands together. “Anyway, I sure am grateful for it.”

  “That’s awesome. What’s the spice for?” I ask.