Her palm isn't exactly against my heart—there's, admittedly, quite a few layers between my skin and hers. But still—it's such an intimate gesture that it kind of blows me away. Suddenly, just like she said (even though I'm fairly certain I'm not doing a yoga pose at the moment), I'm right here. I'm right here with her. It's just Kennedy and me beneath the trees, in the snow. Kennedy, touching my heart.
My heart that skips a beat, right at that moment.
My blood pounds through me as Kennedy holds my gaze with her intense eyes. For a long moment we say absolutely nothing. But I feel everything. I feel that it's one of the most intense things I've ever done, taking this chance, coming on this vacation, coming on this walk with Kennedy tonight. But I did it. I'm here. I'm experiencing this.
And it's beautiful.
Kennedy takes another deep breath, and she slowly, almost regretfully, drops her hand down to her side. My legs go a little limp when she's no longer touching me, but I stiffen my knees, shove my hands into my coat pockets, take a deep breath and try to stand a little straighter.
“Yoga brings you back into yourself,” she tells me quietly then. “It makes you right here, right in this moment. And there's nothing else besides you and your breath and your connection to something you can't exactly see, but you feel with your heart. It's sublime, that feeling.” Kennedy watches me for a long moment, her eyes dark and impossible to read. “And it was that feeling that reminded me that my parents are never truly gone. That they're still with me, even though I can't see them or hear them or touch them anymore.” She reaches up and places her bare hand over her left breast, her fingers trailing down her fleece jacket for a moment. “They're still here, because they're still in my heart.”
Coming from anyone else, I would think that that last statement would almost sound corny or saccharine. But as we pause beneath the falling snow, as we look into one another's eyes, I know that she just said this from the deepest part of her heart. That she means it utterly. And that vulnerability in that moment...it honestly takes my breath away.
An hour ago, we were complete strangers, but here we are, in the dark woods, telling each other hard things, telling each other the hard parts of the stories of our lives. I don't often do this. I'm never this vulnerable, usually, to anyone. Not even my sister, really, the person I'm closest to in this entire world. She knows how much I miss Dad. But I don't think she knows, not really, what his death did to me, how I gave up everything I really loved, after he died. How my life changed.
“Hey,” Kennedy tells me, her voice low as she gazes into my eyes, cocking her head gently to the left. “Are you all right?”
I take a deep breath. I close my eyes. I dredge up every bit of courage I have in me. “I'm sorry,” I tell her then, letting out my breath in a long sigh. “I have no idea why, but coming on this vacation...it's done something to me. It's made me think of all the ways I've changed, since my father's death.” The words come out very small, escaping into the air between us: “I don't really know if I like who I've become,” I tell her.
Once the words are out of my mouth, I have immediate regret. I can't believe I just told her that, the person I've found so deeply sexy and amazing. I told her something so vulnerable and painful about myself, and now...now I can't take it back. It's out in the open between us.
Kennedy reaches up slowly, gently, like she's about to touch a wild animal, and any fast movements might startle it. But she's not touching a wild animal. She's reaching up, and then she's pressing her palm against my cheek, cupping my cheek and jaw against her hot skin.
And she is hot, hot like she's burning up, like she's feverish. But it's so cold out here. How is that possible?
“You know what I've learned lately?” she tells me then, breathing the words out.
“What?” I ask her, trembling from the cold or her touch...I'm not entirely certain.
Kennedy gazes at me quietly. “At any moment,” she tells me, her beautiful lips forming the words as I watch them intently, “we can begin again.”
For a long moment, I feel the truth of her words. And, God, I want to believe them. I want to believe them so badly. But I can't. I can feel the tears start, but I squelch them, taking a deep breath. And then I take a step back, and the moment is lost, falling away from us like the snow as her hand loses contact with my skin. “I'm sorry,” I tell her, wrapping my arms around me again as I shake my head. My words sound hollow. “I'm just not sure if I believe that,” I tell her, feeling regret burn through me.
The problem is that I'm filled with so much regret. Regret for the fact that I gave up my dreams. Regret that my father's death forced me into a life that he would have never wanted for me. I think he knew that I didn't want to stay in Florida. He supported, so much, my frequent trips to the Rockies, could never get enough of the pictures I took, just to show him how beautiful it was there.
Here.
I think my father secretly wanted to leave Florida, too. He wanted adventures, wanted the thrill of something different. He was waiting for retirement, and then he and Mom were going to buy the RV that they'd been saving for, take off together and see everything they'd planned. They were going to start in Florida, of course, go to all of the kitschy, wonderful tourist stops that are still in operation. And then...the sky was the limit. They were going to see all of America, my father told me proudly.
And then it couldn't happen anymore. He'd never get the chance. Because he was gone.
Kennedy stays silent for a long moment, standing tall and quiet, the snow falling all around us in a hush. She lifts her chin, her hands easily at her sides, her eyes glittering in the dark.
She looks so wolf-like standing there. Not in a scary way, though I'm fully cognizant of the fact that wolves can be pretty frightening. But then, there's really never been an animal I was afraid of. And yes, Kennedy's wolf-like, standing there...but the comparison is one of beauty. She looks, honestly, noble.
My heart's beating hard again, and I'm pretty emotional in this moment. I'm thinking about Dad, about all of the things he wanted to do but never got a chance to. I'm thinking about all of the regrets I've had in my own life, so many, many more than I can possibly count. I'm thinking of all of the times I said “no” when I desperately wanted to say “yes.” All those times that I didn't take chances because I wanted to be safe.
But it's not safe, what I'm doing right now, going for a walk in the night on the mountain, the snow falling down around us, the cold so visceral, I feel it in my bones.
I watch Kennedy and Kennedy watches me.
“The thing is,” I tell her, fear pouring through me. I push through it anyway. I stand as tall as I can, and though I'm shaking (not from the cold this time, I'm certain of it), I push through the fear anyway. And I take a deep breath and tell her: “I want to believe I can start again,” I whisper to Kennedy. “But...I don't know how.”
Something flickers across Kennedy's face again, and—her eyes dark and hooded—she takes a step toward me. I stand my ground, even though everything in me—all of the “safe” impulses that I've built up over the years that keep me from ever moving outside of my comfort zone and trying anything wonderful—is firing on all cylinders. I stand perfectly still, my knees locked stiff, my skin shivering, and I hold my breath as Kennedy reaches up again, as—again—she cups her hand to my cheek and chin, her hot palm resting against my skin, creating a fire in me that is unquenchable.
“Nobody knows how to start over, Trish,” she says softly, gently. “You just try. You hope like crazy. But you try. And if it doesn't work,” she whispers, her eyes glittering, “you try again.”
The surety of that statement hits me square in the heart. I feel how true it is through my whole body, to the deepest part of my bones and back again.
And I know, in that moment, that I believe it. That I believe her.
The air is sparking between us, electricity rushing over my skin as want and desire flood through me. Because, in this moment, I've
opened the gates...
I've let myself feel the totality of how much I want Kennedy.
And instead of talking myself out of it, instead of telling myself that it's not safe to do this, that I'm setting myself up for heartache to do this, that—for a million reasons—I shouldn't do this...
I do it anyway.
I...try.
My heartbeat is thundering through me so loudly that it's all I can hear, my blood rushing like a spring about to be flooded. If I don't do it right this damn minute, I'm going to lose all my nerve. So I just do it. I take the final step that's separating Kennedy and me. I take that step, and then my enormous, puffy parka is pressing against her front, and I'm reaching out and curling my fingers over her hips, hooking my thumbs in her jeans belt loops. There's electricity seemingly crackling between my hands and her as I draw our bodies even closer together, pulling us closer, as close as we can get with my winter gear separating us.
And I tilt my chin up, my nose brushing against hers.
And we stay like that for only half a heartbeat. Because I wanted her to want this to, I wanted to know that I hadn't misread the signals. That I'm still capable of wanting someone who wants me just as much. That I can still recognize how I feel without squashing it down, and that I can still act on it.
I wanted her to want me.
And she does.
Kennedy brings her hands up to my hips, too, drifting her palms up and over my back until her strong arms are wrapped around my shoulders, drawing me even closer to her. We meet at the exact same time, our lips brushing against one another, gentle for just a heartbeat, and then full of intensity and need, soft and hot all at once.
The electricity that has been crackling all over my skin roars through me like a bolt of lightning as we kiss each other now. I shudder against Kennedy as the electric kiss devours the both of us in waves of need. This is not a simple little kiss. This is energy, this is want and desire as our lips merge, as our tongues entwine, hers sneaking into my mouth even as I smile against her, breathing out in a hiss of want.
Kennedy leans away from me, and—for a second—I'm worried that this wasn't what it seemed. I feel cold as she leans away, but then I see her staring down at me, her eyes dark with desire.
“Do you want to cut the walk short?” she asks me, her voice in a low growl as she digs her fingers into my hips.
It takes me only a second to recognize what's implied in that statement.
Do you want to cut the walk short? can be translated to want to come back to my place?
“Yeah,” I murmur, stepping away from her, the world shaking as I whisper it out between us. Yes to everything. I run a hand through my hair, the electricity still crackling between us.
She stares at me for a long moment, flexing her fingers, and then her mouth curls up at the corners as she ducks her head down a little, staring at me through her long black lashes.
“Shall we?” she murmurs, and, elegantly...gracefully...Kennedy turns and bows a little, gesturing back the way we came, gazing up at me with hooded eyes darkened with desire, eyes that shake me to my core.
My heart in my throat, I move past her slowly, feeling time seem to slow down as I pass her, her eyes on me, roving over me. Even though I'm wearing this enormous parka and pair of snow pants...it doesn't seem to matter to her. Everything that I am, physically, is hidden away by enormous snow gear...but there's still lust and want in Kennedy's face as she gazes after me. Like she knows what lies beneath, under the gear.
Like she knows what's inside of me, what makes me....me. And she likes it very much.
Electricity continues to crackle over my skin, as together, about a foot from one another, we make the slog back toward the retreat center through the broken snow of the path we already made. My heart is thrumming inside of me, and everything that I am feels electrified, yes. But also confused.
It seems like we're heading back to...I don't know. I think it's pretty obvious that we're going to go back to our room together. Kennedy strides ahead of me now in the night, and it's hard to tell exactly what she's thinking.
Normally, right now, I'd do a million second guesses. I'd talk myself out of what just happened, say that I'd missed the signals, even though I know they were there. Even though I know that what we're heading back to the retreat center for is not some yoga. I'd try to tell myself that I shouldn't do this. I'd come up with a million reasons why this wasn't a good idea (even if I believed, utterly, that it was a good idea), because this has become so far outside of my comfort zone.
But the truth of the matter is that, many years ago now, I did things like this without thinking about the consequences. I took my risks, and somehow—always—it all turned out okay.
Okay, so yes...this might all turn out horribly. Kennedy is the owner of the retreat center. Anything could happen, and I could get hurt, or I could hurt her. I don't deny that.
But...what if we didn't hurt one another? What if the attraction I've felt for Kennedy is mutual? What if something wonderful is about to happen to me?
Normally I wouldn't weigh the positives. I'd never take the risk in the first place.
But for tonight—just for tonight—I'm trying. And I'm going to take that risk, come what may.
I thought we'd walked a lot farther than this, but it's only a handful of moments until we reach the retreat center again. The light is still soft and subdued inside, and when the front door gives beneath Kennedy's hand, I realize my heart is in my throat.
I take a deep breath as Kennedy holds the door open for me.
And then I step inside.
Inside the entrance, it's warm and quiet. I can hear the heat coming on throughout the building as we let in the cold air, but other than that, all is silent. Kennedy closes the door behind me, and I take off my hat, threading my fingers through my hair, probably making it stand up in a million directions. But I don't care.
I turn, my breath coming quickly, as I gaze back at Kennedy.
She's leaning against the door with one shoulder, gazing at me quietly, her eyes dark. The entryway is much dimmer lit than the reception area, but still—I can see the desire in her eyes.
I don't say anything. And neither does she. Instead, I unzip my parka, stepping forward and letting it slide in a puddle of melting snow to the ground. I peel out of my snow pants, letting the straps slide over my shoulders, and then I'm stepping out of those, too.
It's really, really far from a super sexy strip tease, but now I'm in my long johns, and Kennedy is stepping forward, wrapping her hands around my hips again. I tug at the zipper at her throat, pulling it down to open up the fleece pullover. There are so many layers we have to maneuver through, but we're getting there. Kennedy chuckles as I pull the fleece over her arms, and I'm chuckling, too, when she hooks her fingers into the waistband of my long johns.
“Where's the driver—Reese?” I ask her, beginning to pant as Kennedy crouches down in front of me, slowly tugging the waistband of the long johns down, then dragging the fabric over the skin of my thighs and my knees until they're a puddle of fabric on the floor, and I'm just wearing my turtleneck and panties.
“She's probably in the mess hall,” she tells me, glancing up with one brow up, her lips turned into a sexy smirk. “But she won't bother us. She won't come here.”
“What?” I ask her, my breath coming out even faster as Kennedy hooks her thumbs now into the waistband of my panties, still perfectly balanced in front of me in a crouch, her thigh muscles quite evident through her thin jeans.
“She won't bother us, I promise you,” Kennedy says, her voice rich and low and sultry as she begins to slowly, tantalizingly, pull down my panties.
“No,” I tell her then, reaching down, holding her hands tightly against my hips. Kennedy glances up instantly, her face darkening with concern.
“Are you all right?” she asks me, licking her lips. “I can stop right now. I'm sorry, I thought—”
“No, no, I want this,” I tell her. Go
d, I want this. I glance around, shaking my head. “Just...not here. Not where someone could see us.”
Kennedy's mouth turns up at the corners again as she rises fluidly, her hands leaving my hips. “If I promised you,” she says, leaning over me, bringing her arms around me tightly, “that we wouldn't be interrupted...would you believe me? I promise that Reese has a sort of...animal instinct...about things. She won't bother us—”
“But you can't promise me that,” I tell her, shaking my head, my breath coming fast. “She could show up at anytime for any reason. Let's just go to the room, okay?”
Kennedy's lips turn up at the corners so beautifully that, for a heartbeat, she takes my breath away. “As you wish,” she murmurs to me, leaning forward and brushing her full, warm lips against my left temple.
I shudder against her, and then I'm grabbing up my wet parka and snow pants and long johns, and I'm following after her down the corridor as she leads the way to the bedroom—the bedroom that, I realize, I would never be able to find the way back to if she wasn't directing me. Her hand is blazingly hot against my palm as she threads her fingers through mine, pulling me gently down the hall after her.
Once we're inside the bedroom, once the door is closed behind us, I let the parka and pants fall to the floor in a wet heap. I pull my turtle neck up and over my head, and then my long john shirt follows. I'm standing there in my bra and panties now, and Kennedy is lifting her chin, is breathing out and stepping forward.
We meet each other in front of the door, wrapping our arms around each other, drawing the other close, close, closer still, our hips pressing tightly together, our breasts together, our mouths, at last, meeting again in a fevered kiss. She is all warmth and softness and desire as I kiss her deeply, desperately, drinking in the heat of her mouth as she moans against me, a deep, guttural sound that sounded—just for a heartbeat—like a growl. A thrill races through me, a shudder, as I place my palms against the small of her back, under her shirt, tracing my fingers over her skin.
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