by Mia Sheridan
I felt a leap in my chest and let out a soft gasp. His words, the way he gazed at me so intently, shredded me, ripped me apart and yet put me back together all at the same time. Oh, Gabriel.
His thumb continued to move over my cheekbone, his touch so achingly tender that it made me want to weep. He had come to me as a man who panicked every time someone got close to him, and now he was touching me with such certainty, such strength and conviction. God, I was proud of him, but more so, I was deeply honored that he’d chosen me, deeply grateful that he’d learned the worst of who I was and loved me anyway. I was breathless with the sheer wonder of it.
Gabriel’s gaze moved to my mouth and lingered. I saw him swallow and knew he was going to kiss me. The butterflies in my belly all started flapping their wings at once as he leaned toward me, looking hesitant, and certain, and more beautiful than any man had ever looked. His lips parted slightly and then they were pressed against mine, warm and soft, and I let out a small moan of pleasure at the meeting of our mouths. He scooted toward me until there was no room between us, and I wrapped my arms around his neck slowly, weaving my fingers into the silky thickness of his hair.
I tilted my head and opened my mouth so he could explore me, and he groaned, shooting a spark of desire between my legs. He took my invitation, brushing his tongue tentatively along mine, and then with more confidence as our tongues danced and tasted.
When he finally broke away, gasping softly, it took me a minute to realize where I was, that’s how lost in him I’d been. A smile spread over my face before I’d even opened my eyes, and when I did so, he was gazing back, looking happy and slightly stunned. His lips were still parted, wet and reddened from our kiss, and his cheekbones were tinged pink. His eyes were soft and full of desire, and I thought to myself, I am this beautiful man’s first kiss. His lips have only touched mine. And I wished it were the same for me; though, in some ways, I wondered if I’d really ever kissed anyone at all because I couldn’t remember any of them now. Perhaps it was because this was the first kiss where I’d been fully present—not just my body, but my mind and my heart.
He reached his hand up and used his thumb to wipe away the wetness on my lower lip, and I laughed softly, feeling happier than I’d ever felt in my life, awed by the almost unbearable sweetness of the moment, of him.
We sat there awhile longer, swirling our feet in the water, Gabriel hooking his ankle with mine now and again as I laughed and leaned into him. We watched the trees begin to bare themselves—colorful leaves floating to the ground—and we chatted about nothing of consequence, feeling the peace of the moment, the joy of each other.
Had I once dreamed of romance and white knights? As a little girl, had I imagined that someday a handsome prince with his heart in his eyes would take my face in his hands and kiss me? I couldn’t remember now, but I wished I could, because I wanted to imagine that that little girl was somewhere inside of me and that this moment was for both of us, and for all the dreams I’d thought were lost. Lost to someone like me.
We let our feet dry in the sunshine and then climbed back up to the road. I wondered at how this day had turned from pain and tears and a destroyed dinner to happiness and peace and a walk under a covered bridge. And our first kiss. The most beautiful kiss I’d ever experienced.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
We all have a superpower. What’s yours?
Gambit, the Duke of Thieves
GABRIEL
We spent every moment of daylight together that weekend, watching the sunrise, taking drives, visiting my favorite spots in the area, driving to a couple of small towns where we walked through quaint downtown areas and ate in small mom-and-pop restaurants.
We bought several types of Vermont maple syrup, and I cooked her pancakes in the morning and we taste tested them all. Droplets of syrup stuck to her lip, and she laughed as I kissed them away, my blood heating as desire rolled hot and heavy through my body.
I reveled in our newfound physical closeness, still slightly nervous at first, but mostly overjoyed by all the sensations she was helping me discover. Not only did my love for her cause me to crave a deeper intimacy, but I’d become accustomed to her touch slowly over the weeks, and that had made all the difference. Even now, Ellie touched me almost as tentatively as I touched her, and it helped me gain confidence in the very thing that had once made me feel so helpless. There had been no way for me to know it, certainly no way I could have guessed, but it felt as if I had been pulled to Ellie because our pasts—and our hearts—aligned in such a way that we were meant to heal each other.
On Sunday, we made a picnic lunch and ate it in a grassy area under a giant beech tree, its leaves gold and orange and red, casting light on Ellie’s hair so that it, too, looked gilded. She lay back on the blanket we’d brought, and the dappled sunshine coming through the leaves moved over her face, making my breath catch. She was so beautiful that looking at her made me ache. She looked soft and happy, and her eyes were filled with something I hoped might be love. I leaned over and kissed her and kissed her until I thought I might go crazy. But I knew Ellie needed to be the one to advance things between us. I knew I needed to let her lead us in that direction if it was going to feel right. I wanted to give that to her, and so I rolled away and stared up at the sky coming through the breaks in the leaves and tried to catch my breath, to cool my blood, to will my body to calm.
I wanted so badly to touch her, to feel her breasts in my hands, to run my tongue over her nipples and feel them stiffen, to skim my fingers down the silky skin of her inner thigh. I almost groaned, but managed to hold it back.
The irony of the situation didn’t escape me. I’d come to her to help me feel comfortable being close to a woman, and now I was dying with the frustration of holding back … for her. I remembered the talk I’d had with George about trusting my gut, though, and realized that this was what I’d known deep inside: She had needed me just as I’d needed her. And I was willing to do whatever it took to let her know she was precious to me—her body and her heart.
She propped her arms on my chest, smiling into my face as I chuckled. “What?” I asked.
She shrugged slightly, her smile growing. “I don’t know. I’m just … happy.”
A leaf fluttered down and landed in her hair and I plucked it out, smiling and then meeting her eyes. Marry me, I wanted to say. Stay with me forever. “Me, too,” I whispered instead. We lay there for a few minutes, listening to the birds cry out to one another as they rustled the leaves overhead.
Ellie used one finger to outline a button on my shirt, and that small movement looked somehow erotic, her slender finger moving slowly around the tiny disc. I barely stopped myself from groaning. “When we went into Morlea to the grocery store, people looked at us … strangely. Is that why we’ve gone to other towns this weekend? So you don’t see anyone you know?” She gazed up at me, questions in her eyes, a bit of insecurity as if she wondered whether their stares were because of her.
“It doesn’t have anything to do with you, Ellie.”
She tilted her head, her finger still moving in circles on the button. “Then … why? Why do they look at you that way?”
I was silent for a minute. “Mostly because I make them uncomfortable, I think.” There was confusion in her gaze. “When I first came home, everyone was really happy. I got attention everywhere I went. I was sort of this local hero.” I thought back to that time, how everything had been overly bright, how the world had seemed to waver in front of me every time I stepped out of the house, as if none of it were real. As if I was having a hard time holding on to the truth that I’d finally escaped the darkness of where I’d been. “I was skittish, nervous …”
“Naturally,” Ellie said quietly.
“It wasn’t only that I was suddenly free in the outside world again, it was that I was trying to come to terms with the death of my parents. I was grieving them. I was grappling with the fact that I’d taken someone’s life.” I glanced at her, but her expr
ession didn’t change. She’d known that. Everyone did. “I was struggling hard.” I paused again. “One day George took Dominic and me to this fair. He thought, you know, that I could use some fun, to feel like a teenager. We got there and the lights, the people, it felt like everything was closing in on me and I sort of … went a little crazy. I freaked out and dropped to the ground as if I were in a war and being fired on. They had to carry me out of there.”
“Oh, Gabe …”
“After that I didn’t go out in public much anymore. I lost myself in stone carving, in the comfort of the people and the things I knew.”
She was quiet as I thought about that time. “Once I did start going into town, people were wary of me. They didn’t know how to react to me, if or how to approach me and so they just … didn’t. I guess they wondered if I might just freak out again. Even now.” I chuckled softly but there was no humor in the sound. It ended in a sigh.
Her brow furrowed prettily, and she nodded in understanding. “It’s been so long, though. You were a teenager then. They should … try.”
“Maybe I should try harder, too.”
“Maybe,” she said softly. The air was cool, and I pulled her close to make sure she was warm. She hooked a leg over mine.
“Do you still … struggle with having taken that man’s life?” Her voice was soft, hesitant.
“No. I’ve found peace with that. I didn’t enjoy it, but I’d do it again if I had to. In some ways that was the easiest thing to come to terms with. That was the thing everyone commended me for—finding the bravery to escape regardless of what I had to do. That was the topic no one was afraid to address. It’s the things no one wants to talk about, the things everyone avoids, that you hold inside like a dirty secret that might somehow be your fault.”
She looked up at me. “But you don’t feel that way anymore.”
I shook my head. “No, not anymore.”
We were both quiet for long minutes, her head resting over my heart. I wondered if she was thinking about her own secrets, the things she had held inside for so long.
“Will you tell me about your parents?” she asked.
I smiled. “They were the best parents in the world. My dad was quiet, a thinker. And my mom was this Chatty Cathy. She couldn’t go anywhere without stopping to have a conversation with about ten people.”
“What else?” Her voice sounded wistful.
“She loved to read. She always had a paperback in her purse. Sometimes I’d look around at games when the other team was up, and she’d have her nose in a book.” I smiled at the memory, at the knowledge I’d gotten my love of books from her.
She was quiet for a moment before she whispered, “It must have been such an awful, terrible shock to find out they’d passed away while you were gone.” Gone.
“Yeah.” It was half word, half breath, and I was silent for a minute at the memory of George breaking the news to me in that cold police station room, of the awful, aching grief that had followed. “But later … later I wondered if maybe having two extra angels on my side helped me escape that basement, you know?”
Her head tipped back, and the shocked look in her expression made me pause. Was she thinking of her own angels? Who had she lost? She looked down again, resting her cheek on my chest. “What are you thinking, Ellie?”
“I …” She shook her head slightly. “Nothing. That’s just a … nice thought.”
“What about you? Are your parents still alive?” I remembered what she’d said about how her dad had treated her, and stilled as I waited for her to answer. The moment had been so peaceful, and I didn’t want to destroy that. But I yearned to know all about her, everything, the good and the bad, all the things that made her who she was.
“I guess my dad probably is,” she said. “I wouldn’t know. I left his home right after I graduated high school and haven’t spoken to him since.”
A lump formed in my throat. I’d noted she hadn’t mentioned her mom at all. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’m over it.”
Are you, Ellie? I don’t believe that and I don’t think you do, either. My heart felt heavy, and we’d had a lot of heavy lately, and so I rolled her over, startling her and making her laugh. I smiled down at her before kissing her quickly, and the mood lightened.
I rolled off her again and we faced each other, our elbows on the blanket, our heads propped in our hands. I picked up a piece of her hair and rubbed it between my fingers, marveling at the silky texture. Lying here in the sunlight, it was a mixture of gold and red. “I’d want our children to have your hair,” I murmured. “It’s too beautiful not to be passed down.”
She looked briefly startled as she blinked at me. “Me, a mother?” She shook her head gently, bringing more of that honey-hued hair over her shoulder as she laughed. But her laugh was shallow, no joy contained within it.
I regarded her. “Why not? Don’t you want kids someday?”
“I … I don’t know. I’ve never thought about it.” She bit at her lip, looking off over my shoulder. The expression in her eyes was something close to fear. But why?
“I think you’d make a great mother,” I said softly, leaning forward and kissing her again. I believed she had a heart full of love to give, whether she realized it yet or not. I’d seen the tenderness inside her, experienced her gentle nature. I was experiencing it now.
I leaned back, and the look in her eyes softened. After a moment, she asked, “How did your interview with Chloe go? Do you still feel good about it, now that you’ve actually experienced it?” I knew she was changing the subject, but I was okay with that. I’d learned that Ellie would confide in me when she was ready and not a moment sooner.
“Yeah. It did feel good.” I considered her question a few seconds longer. “It felt good to be able to talk about what happened to me and feel the true sense of having moved past it. Some of the stuff we talked about brought up difficult memories, but I was okay an hour later, you know? In the beginning, it took such a long time to bounce back when some memory or another assaulted me. Now … I feel like I’m the one in control.”
She nodded, and I couldn’t dismiss the pride in her eyes. It warmed me, made me feel good, as if my survival was an accomplishment I could claim. She opened her mouth to say something but then closed it, obviously reconsidering whatever she’d been about to say. I watched as several expressions moved over her face. “Ellie, you can ask me anything. The things I told Chloe are yours, too, if you want them. There isn’t anything I’d give to her that I wouldn’t give to you.”
She smiled a sad sort of smile. “I’m just not sure what to ask. I guess … I guess just how? How did you survive that kind of horror?”
I licked my lips, looking off into the field behind her, thinking how familiar this seemed to me in a strange, distorted sort of way. Lying with Eloise in the daffodil fields. “When I was first abducted, I was terrified of course. I was traumatized and confused and desperate to get out of there. But after a while, it was the boredom that started eating away at me. I knew that if I hoped to get out of there someday, I had to stay sane. I had to keep my mind occupied. I did math in my head a lot, but it didn’t help the loneliness.” I paused, thinking back to those days, remembering them as the most desolate of all the time I’d spent down there.
“One day I was scratching something into the wall with a penny I’d found on the floor, when a big chunk came loose.”
“You started digging a tunnel?” she asked, her eyes wide.
I chuckled. “No. I was in a basement. I could have chipped through the entire wall over the course of fifty years and I’d still be underground.”
Her face fell, the look in her eyes horror stricken, obviously imagining—maybe for the first time—the details of the situation I’d been in.
“I’d been carving with my dad since I was little. I had some skill for a kid, some promise anyway. I had the penny and I found a paperclip, and I used them to carve a figure, crude at first, but all
I had was time and so I worked on it. I started over several times with smaller pieces I got from different places—behind the radiator, behind some boxes of old clothes he had down there, in dark corners—that wouldn’t be noticed, and I made a set of figurines and named them for the things I loved. I was so afraid I’d forget what love felt like, and they helped me remember. They were a royal court of hope and they were my friends. My only friends. They were the reason I didn’t break. They kept my mind and hands occupied and my hope alive. They reminded me that there are sparrows in the trees and fields of daffodils, and best friends, and even though I was in a cold dusty box, I might see those things again and that faith kept me alive until I did.”
“Oh, Gabriel,” she whispered, tears coming to her eyes. “They encouraged you when you had nothing else.”
I smiled softly. “Yes.” I tilted my head, thinking. “Maybe it was easier to accept the encouragement from characters, even characters I myself created, than for it to come straight from me. Funny, but it worked. It was like they embodied the people and things I loved and helped me remember their words of wisdom, the things they might have said to me if they could.”
A tear slipped down her cheek, and I caught it on my thumb. “Please don’t be sad. It’s how I survived. It’s how I saved myself. It’s how I’m lying here with you now.”
She leaned forward and kissed my lips, cupping my face in her hand. “Chloe called you extraordinary. And now I know exactly why.”