by Rachael Wade
“Sure.” He took my hand in his, rubbed the side of my arm. “You sure you’re all right, though? We can head home if you want. . . .” He pointed to the parked Maserati.
“I appreciate it, but no,” I sent him a faint smile. “It’ll do me good to stay out. And I’m fine, really.” I resumed my stroll, waited for him. I rubbed my forearms and released my hands back to my sides, determined to get Andrew off my mind. “So ... where were we? Ah, yes. You never really told me where you live outside of Lafayette.”
“Oh, right.” He took a deep breath and followed my lead. “Well, I was born here. I live in New Iberia, in my grandfather’s old house. I sort of inherited it. I’ve traveled a lot, moved around a bit. I’ve always come back home, though.”
“You inherited a house? Really? You live there all by yourself?”
“Yeah. It’s a lot more space than I need, but I’d never sell the house. It’s part of me.” He’d placed his hand on the small of my back as we walked, leading me across another street. The smallest of gestures, but so much like our brief time in Paris, as if we’d been together for years. And my lungs forgot how to function.
I took a step back up onto the curb, forced a breath, said, “I can understand that. It’s a little different for me, I guess. I’ve only been here a little over a year. I left Seattle after I met you,” I smiled at him, “just as you suggested. But I came here instead of Paris. Moved out here and bought a house. My grandmother helped. Turned out, she’d been saving money for me for years.”
He nodded. “Family here?”
My mother flashed in my mind, her in her wheelchair in front of Oak Alley Plantation. This is where I wish I’d stayed, Camille, she’d said that day.
“No, no family,” I said. “I came to visit New Orleans once, back in high school. With my mom. She loves the South. So do I. Her whole family’s from here.” My heart grew heavy as I spoke, hoping that was enough of an answer.
“Wow, so did you move out here all by yourself? Or did your parents move back too? Your grandma?”
“By myself. Mom’s still in Seattle, but she and my dad aren’t together anymore.”
“Oh, sorry to hear that.” He replied sincerely, his face thoughtful in the streetlight.
We stopped to sit on the sidewalk in front of an antique shop. He held my arm to keep me stable while I lowered my body to sit on the concrete. A dark blue truck drove by, and my heartbeat ratcheted up. I followed it with my eyes, scanning the driver’s seat for a face.
“Your mom didn’t want to move back after her and your dad split up?” Gavin’s voice broke through my distraction.
“No. She’s not well. And now that she’s been in Seattle for years, she’s comfortable there. She didn’t want to make a big move at this point in her life.”
“Your dad? Still in Seattle, I presume.”
I pulled in a breath and pushed my hands over my hair, smoothing some strands that had loosened while we were dancing, pondering how much to delve into my complicated baggage on the first date.
“Yeah, still there,” I exhaled. “He thought I was crazy for coming out here, but I love it. And Louisiana’s new enough. It’s easy, because no one really knows me. I was never close to any of Mom’s family. Come to think of it, I doubt they even know I live here now.”
Gavin folded his arms, letting them rest on his knees. “It’s no Seattle.”
“Exactly.”
“I see. What about your grandma. The one who helped you buy the house. Your mom’s mom? She still live out here?”
I shifted my weight on the hard ground, thinking of how to politely change the subject.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “You don’t have to talk about your family anymore if you don’t want.” He leaned his head on his hand, shifted his eyes downward again. “I just want to know you.”
He straightened his back and watched a young couple jabbering away, walking from one of the shops across the street to their car. I ran my hand over my still-tender forearm, staring at it, wondering when to tell Gavin what was going on with that.
He reached up, pulled a few strands of my hair away from my face, tucked it behind my ear. “So, my introverted Seattleite, tell me something else I don’t know. Like why you work in a bookstore. Just a job?”
“Pretty much.” I grinned at his touch. “Working around books is a sort of heaven for me. I want to write. Which I don’t think I’ve ever told to anyone before. Not even Audrey.”
“Why wouldn’t you tell someone that?”
“I’m not sure. It’s a dream that’s mine, I guess. No one can take it from me if I keep it tucked away.” I peered into his dark eyes, reached out to touch his face for the first time, to feel the porcelain skin that had so easily hypnotized me the first time I met him in Paris. Such a bold move for me, yet I became bolder still, placing my palm on the side of his face, holding it in place so he couldn’t look away. “And who are you, my Louisiana native?” I rubbed my thumb across his cheek. “You haven’t told me a thing about yourself, other than you live in New Iberia.”
He leaned his face into my palm, staring back at me. There went his eyes again, trying to communicate something, only his mouth wouldn’t let him and I couldn’t break through to find what was behind them. “I’m not that interesting,” he said. “I’m more interested in you.”
“And I just want to know you.” Grinning, I shrugged.
Chuckling at his words backfiring on him, he straightened up again and tilted his head back to look up at the dark sky. He moved his hands to the sidewalk, leaned his weight on it. “Let’s see. I love art, I’m a Hitchcock film geek, and I play piano. But most important, you,” he took my hand in his, “are by far the most beautiful person I have ever encountered in all of my existence. And that’s about all there is to know.”
“Well, thank you,” I said, taken by his compliment. “But, that’s not all there is to know.” He didn’t volunteer anything else so I continued. “What do you do for work? Do you go to school? Give me something.”
He rolled his eyes at me and looked out past the street, shaking his head. “Unlike you, I have virtually no bills. Because of my inheritance. So I take jobs here and there wherever I travel, and then I give the money away.” He shrugged. “My calling, helping people. It makes me happy.” He interlocked his fingers with mine, squeezed. “Is that sufficient detail for you?”
I crossed my legs Indian style, ready to fire more questions, but he swiveled his entire body toward me, taking my wrists in his hands. The moonlight highlighted the little scar above his eyebrow, and once again, I felt I must have known him in a past life. It was the only thing that explained why he felt so familiar to me.
“Before you ask anything else,” he ran his fingers through his hair, cleared his throat, “I have to say something, or I might never get the guts to say it again.”
“Okay, just say it.” I turned toward him, too.
“A little warning. This is going to come off strong for a first date.” He chuckled, adjusted his shirt collar. Unnerved by the urgency in his voice, I nodded to encourage him. I sensed what this was like for him, the fear that opening up to me, someone he barely knew, would give me power over him. I also knew that every once in a while, that was so undeniably worth the risk. Maybe his confession, whatever it was, would make me feel better about breaking the news to him about Andrew.
“I’m completely crazy about you, Camille.” He moved in closer, his eyes assessed my reaction. “I know there are details you didn’t want to mention before ... things about the guy you left back in Seattle, and your mom. But I want you to know whatever it is you’re still running from, you don’t have to run from it anymore. You can talk to me. And I would never, ever, hurt you.”
He spoke frantically now, and I began to sweat, anxious from his anxiety. Desperate to ease his discomfort, I turned my eyes toward the sidewalk.
“I mean, I feel like I’ve known you forever, even that day I met you in Paris. Something happened t
hen. I love how you bear your thoughts in your eyes, how you’re transparent. Yet you’re so elusive, hard to catch--” He finally exhaled. “And I want to be the one to catch you.” Loosening his grip on my hands, he slowly lifted my arm, slid the shirtsleeve up. “Whoever he is . . . I know he hurt you.”
I pulled away, loosened the sleeve to cover the bruised skin, ashamed. I looked away, but he pulled my face closer to his. “He’s scum of the earth. The one back in Seattle, too. Neither one of them deserve you.”
“How did you know?” I asked softly, wondering how obvious it was.
“Lucky guess.” He wiped a tear that formed in the corner of my eye. “Was that him on the phone? The one who did this to you?”
I nodded my head, looked down.
“I just want you to know that I’ll wait for you. However long you need. And that I’m here when you’re ready to talk about it.”
I hesitated, then peered up at him and reached out to pull his arms around me. I’d tell him about Andrew later. For now, I focused on the gift being offered to me. He held me tight, placed his head over mine and ran his fingers through my hair. “I guess this means we’re good?” He laughed, uncertain.
“Yeah.” I buried my head into his neck, wrapped my arms around his waist. “We’re good.” I breathed in his scent and exhaled. His depth only seemed to draw me farther into the recesses of his being, and I was more than ready to dive into its very core.
CHAPTER 6
La Bise
The four of us were silent in Gavin’s Maserati, a somber mood filling the cramped space. In the last week, we’d all returned to Cafe Des Amis several times, went fishing and kayaking, and watched about a thousand movies, including all of Gavin’s favorite Hitchcock flicks. Before I was ready, it was time for Audrey to go back to Seattle, and I wasn’t the only one feeling the weight of her pending departure.
Gabe and Audrey sat in the backseat, her suitcase piled on Gabe’s lap, ready to sentence her back to Seattle. Helping her pack that morning, I tried convincing her to leave the Pacific Northwest and come live in the gator-infested swamps to be closer to Gabe and me. She rejected the idea, as I’d suspected she would. Then she gave me hell for retracting my promise to go to the police when she left. I reminded her that Andrew had forgotten about our date anyway, and that he hadn’t called since the night at Café Des Amis. Both true. I added that things would be safer now that Gavin was around, too, and that seemed to finally mollify her.
From the backseat, Gabe complained, “This thing doesn’t have much room, Gav. We should’ve taken my truck instead.”
“Deal with it,” Gavin snapped back. “Camille and I are going out after we drop Audrey off. I’d kind of like to have my ride with me, if you don’t mind.”
“God you guys, don’t hold back the enthusiasm or anything. Lighten up,” Audrey said, oddly upbeat considering the circumstances.
“How are you possibly in a good mood right now?” Gabe scrunched his face, looking annoyed.
She sighed. “Well excuse me, but I’d prefer to actually enjoy our last few minutes together instead of sulking about it.”
I raised my eyebrows at Gavin, then at Gabe. “She has a point, guys. Can we cool it with the dramatics? Please?”
“Thanks, Cam,” she said. “Put these boys in their place. Man, and guys say we’re the drama queens?”
I laughed, happily agreeing.
“Call it what you want,” Gavin said, “but you ought to be glad we’re the way we are. Like with that guy at the restaurant last week.”
She chuckled. “I believe that’s called over-protective, not over-dramatic.”
“Whatever, babe,” Gavin said, propping his hand on the armrest between us. “You have no idea what kind of scum these guys are, checking you out. It’s disgusting. We don’t have to guess what they’re thinking when they’re staring you girls down, believe me.”
I placed my hand on his arm and gave him a smile. He smiled and then shifted his eyes back to the road, but I saw anger in his balled-up fist as it moved to rest on the shifter. Maybe Audrey had hit a nerve. Maybe these guys were too sensitive. I glanced out the window, realizing I already missed my best friend.
From the airport, Gavin and I drove Gabe back to his place, then decided to grab dinner out on the way to my house. We made our way toward Saint Martinville with the windows rolled down, Breaking Benjamin blasting through the speakers. “For the record,” I called out, “this is one of the best songs ever. Great medicine.”
He turned the volume down as the song ended. “I always thought so. Quite epic.”
I nodded, relieved to have him to myself after the commotion from Audrey’s departure. I watched as we passed aphotic waves of a sugarcane field swaying gracefully, the night breeze pushing them into motion, luring me in.
Gavin remained quiet, his eyes on the dark stretch of road in front of us. I subtly examined him as he drove, loving the expression that swept over him whenever he stumbled off into thought. My curiosity burned, thirsty to know what he was thinking behind those dark chocolate eyes. His poker face gave no hints.
I felt the car slowing, then he glanced into the rearview mirror and gently steered the car off to the side of the road, putting it in to park. The only sound now was of crickets outside.
I shifted my body in my seat and looked around, confused. All I could see around us was the field and some trees, along with a breathtaking number of stars above us. The moon was full against the dark sky. The humidity began to suffocate me, but the silence that now filled the car demanded my attention.
“What’s wrong?” I practically whispered.
He sat casually in the driver’s seat and placed one arm on the armrest, then turned to look at me. “Do you always have to know what I’m thinking? I thought you were so good with silence.” He flashed his signature killer smile. “Please do explain.”
“It’s different. I don’t know. Your silence makes me uncomfortable. But in a good way. I mean, I want to know what you’re thinking. All the time. I don’t feel that way around other people. And you don’t exactly wear your emotions on your sleeve.”
“I don’t?”
“No.” I paused. “But you reveal a lot when you’re thinking.”
He didn’t break his stare, just motioned with his hands for me to continue.
I shrugged. “I mean, your silence says a lot. I can see you processing your thousands of thoughts ... see you analyzing them. But I can’t see the thoughts themselves. It makes me curious. Makes it harder to be quiet with you. I constantly want to hear you.” I realized I was rambling, so I waited for him to respond.
“That sounds like it’s frustrating for you,” he said. “Especially since I told you that your thoughts are transparent to me.”
“To say the least.” I laughed.
“If it makes you feel any better, I only meant I can see you’re genuine. It’s proof that you act and think exactly as you feel. And I like that.” He reached out in the darkness, and I felt him take my hand.
“Okay, but ... why did you stop again?”
“You’re relentless.”
“You’re dodging.”
“Well if you really must know, seeing you get all worked up about that song made me think about how crazy I am about you, that’s all.” He leaned toward me across the armrest, lifted his head slightly to peer at me, his faint smile making an inexcusable assault on my lungs. “And just think, it’s only a twenty-first-century rock band. What would you say if we listened to Mozart or Beethoven? I don’t know if I could handle an outburst of that proportion.”
“You wouldn’t have to.” I swallowed nervously, suddenly aware of his intention. “Beethoven? That expression of love can’t be verbalized.”
I knew it was coming, but his face being this close to mine was something I hadn’t had time to get used to. Each time his skin had touched mine before now, in even the minutest of ways, I became faint. Now the proximity of his mouth was making my heart pound stra
ight out of my chest. I had never felt this way about anyone. It terrified me.
“You’re right,” he declared, nodding. “It’s only felt.” He leaned in farther, placed his hand on the side of my face, pulling me toward him. I didn’t flinch, as I so often did when Andrew touched me. Instead, I welcomed him. I was fiercely aware that the instant his mouth touched mine, I was no longer my own. He would love me or break me, the choice was his.
He slid his hand underneath my hair around the back of my neck. His fingertips glided over my skin, giving me goose bumps. Nope, definitely not the same chills Andrew gave me.
“Breathe, Camille,” he whispered. “I won’t bite.” He chuckled softly. “But I would like to kiss you.”
I let a small breath escape my unreliable lungs as I nodded. The soft collision of his lips on mine shocked me with a jolt of pure electricity. My thought of a moment before had been correct. There would be no more war permitted in my mind’s battlefield, for I had surrendered to being made his immortal captive.
Our lips parted and I lifted my hand to graze my fingers across the scar on his forehead. Looking into his eyes, my fresh existence inhaled, desperate for its first breath of air.
“Camille? You all right?” He sounded winded. No words yet.
“Camille. Talk to me. Are you all right love?” He looked concerned now.
Still nothing.
“Camille?” He grasped the sides of my face.
Finally, an alien on a new planet, I made my attempt at communication with the beautiful creature in front of me. “What are you?” I gasped, my eyes locked on his.
“Uh ... excuse me? What?” His look of concern turned to confusion.
“No human being can possibly have this effect on someone,” I repeated, still fascinated with my new discovery. “What are you?”
He backed away slowly, leaned back in the driver’s seat. “Camille, I didn’t know kissing you would ...” He hesitated at my smile, took a deep breath. “I mean, I didn’t know a human being could have that effect either.” He leaned back toward me, relaxed again. “You have no idea how good this feels.”