The Arrival of You

by Cranford, B.

  It sounded strained because I felt strained, and she gave me a watery smile. And an apology. “I’m sorry. I talked to Ashton last night and realized that as much as I want to stay here, I need to go. I need to do what I came here to do.”

  I opened my mouth to speak. Okay, to say, “Fuck that noise,” but still, I didn’t get the chance. She stilled me with a pleading look, and I couldn’t say no to her.

  I knew the way I knew she was the one—and you can fight me on that all you want, I fucking knew—that I would never be able to tell her no, even if it meant watching her walk away from me. So, instead I nodded and gave her a gentle kiss on the forehead.

  One that told her I would let her go.

  Even though I didn’t want to.

  10

  Bianca

  I had half a mind to call Lucas and tell him I missed him. Because, the fact was, I did.

  After our awkward and frankly emotional talk, he helped me pack up my stuff and drove me to the hostel where I’d reinstated my booking. Luckily, because I was a last-minute cancellation, they still had room for me—as if I’d never canceled. I didn’t know who to thank for that little miracle, but if I ever figured it out, I’d send them a bottle of wine.

  Or maybe I’d give them the middle finger. Because I was lying on my uncomfortable mattress (not that it was even really a mattress; only in the loosest sense of the word) and thinking about the man who’d wiggled his way under my skin.

  His touch.

  His kiss.

  His smile.

  His laugh.

  His . . . ugh, his way with me. I couldn’t explain it except to say that it felt different and I wanted that feeling back. Of course, that could be because it was Christmas morning in Melbourne, and I was all alone. The two German students I was sharing a room at the hostel with had left early for their day down on the Mornington Peninsula, and the other three people in our room of six, I’d yet to sight. They came in late and left early and if I didn’t see their stuff mysteriously move around, I might think they didn’t exist.

  And so, it was just me. Alone. On Christmas Day, without any gifts to give or receive, and with only loose plans to go to the Royal Botanic Gardens and explore. It wasn’t the most depressing, but it wasn’t like I was jumping for joy at my decision-making either.

  Shaking my head, because I’d made my damn choice and I wasn’t going to give in to second-guessing myself, I palmed my phone and considered who to call. Calculating the time difference, I knew it was still early enough that I could catch my family for a Christmas Eve FaceTime chat if I wanted to. But before I’d even consciously decided that yes, I was going to call and subject myself to their questions—why’d you have to go so far away for the holidays, Bianca?—my phone rang in my hand.

  And lo and behold, it was the man who’d occupied my thoughts for much of the three days since I’d seen him.

  Swiping the screen with a small smile, I greeted him in the traditional way. “G’day, mate.”

  “Terrible. We’re going to have to work on your accent if you want to fit in ’round these parts.” Lucas did his own terrible impression—of some kind of old west cowboy, I thought—and his voice held both laughter and a little bit of longing. Or maybe I was just imagining the longing, since I was missing him.

  “Nah, I’ll stick with my own accent and the look I get from people when they nervously ask me if I’m Canadian.” I snickered, thinking about the handful of people who’d approached me over the past few days, and asked me that very question.

  “You get that a lot, pretty girl?”

  I experienced a tinge of regret at his endearment but soldiered on. “Yeah, like five times already.” I listened to his husky laugh in my ear, realizing that he’d probably just woken up and called me first. “Merry Christmas, by the way.”

  “Merry Christmas,” he repeated, his laugh still evident in his tone. “But tell me about this whole ‘Are you Canadian?’ thing.”

  “Oh, so I asked the one guy why he’d thought that and get this. Apparently, Canadians are far more likely to get annoyed if you assume they’re American than the reverse.”

  “Really? I wonder why.”

  I scoffed a little. “I don’t.” I thought about elaborating, then decided to leave well enough alone. “Did Santa come down the chimney last night?”

  “No, sadly. I think I might’ve been on the naughty list this year.”

  Unbidden images of several naughty things Lucas had done to me in the brief window of time we’d spent together stole my attention.

  “Bianca?”

  “Uh huh?” I barely registered him saying my name. “Yeah, what?”

  “Did you just moan in my ear? Because I only have so much self-control, and that was”—he cleared his throat—“fuck, you might as well have asked me to . . .”

  He trailed off and my interest piqued. Hard. “Asked you to what, Luc?”

  “Nothing,” he replied, another guilty clearing of his throat telling me his mind had gone down a similar path to mine. Because of mine, actually.

  I was more prepared for the second wave of images—this time of Lucas with his hand wrapped around his erection, slowly stroking as he looked at me with naked desire—but that didn’t mean I didn’t still have to fight off a moan.

  Because damn, those images weren’t fantasies. I’d seen him like that, and it had been one of the most erotic experiences of my life.

  Actually, thinking on it, all my most erotic experiences seemed to include Lucas.

  No, that’s just the lust talking, I scolded myself, not wanting to think about Mason yet wondering why nothing he and I had done together over the course of our relationship stood out to me.

  Because you’re talking to and thinking about Lucas, idiot. I hummed in agreement with myself. Maybe once the Lucas-sex-haze cleared, I’d think of some time or another where Mason and I . . .

  “Please tell me your silence is because my Christmas present from you is phone sex,” Lucas joked, bringing me out of my thoughts and back into the moment.

  “Actually, it’s not. Because I didn’t get you a gift.” If he’d been in front of me, I’d have cringed, but instead I just said, “I don’t know you well enough to do the gift thing yet.” Which might’ve seemed a little harsh but served as a reminder to myself why I wasn’t waking up in his arms instead of chatting with him on the phone.

  He didn’t say anything for a long moment, and I flinched inwardly at the thought I’d offended him or hurt him or something. I felt like I’d taken my foot and fully shoved it in my mouth with that comment about not knowing him.

  “I got you a gift,” he finally said. Quietly. Too quietly, perhaps. “Have you thought any more about your plans for today, and for how long you’ll stay in the city?”

  The way he spoke scraped along my insides. It wasn’t like he was being cruel or speaking to me (or at me) harshly. But somehow, that made it worse. The soft, polite way he talked spoke of respect for my decision, if not a little hurt that I’d made it at all.

  But it was the right decision. I knew it was—I just had to keep reminding myself of that.

  I didn’t know Lucas. Not well enough to make impulsive choices when I was on the verge of finding out who I was or who I could be.

  “I’m going to the Royal Botanic Gardens. I figured I’d pick up some food and have a picnic”—I swallowed deeply as thoughts of our airplane picnic assaulted me—“and then wander around. It’s supposed to be beautiful. And it’s not going to be too hot today.” I’d checked my weather app to make sure I wasn’t going to be roasting in the hot Australian sun and had been pleasantly surprised to see that the heat wave that had pounded (don’t think about Lucas) Melbourne since we’d touched down had eased off. Though, admittedly, when it first said twenty-five degrees, I’d panicked a little. It wasn’t like I’d packed for freezing temperatures since I knew I was heading into summer.

  Thankfully it was only a second before I remembered the whole Fahrenh
eit/Celsius thing, switched the setting to the former and discovered that the forecast was for a sunny, warm-but-not-hot day.

  “Yeah, it’s going to be a perfect day for some backyard cricket, as per the family tradition. Are you sure I can’t tempt you to join us? Mum’s only asked me if you’re coming six times.”

  I laughed at the wry way he referred to his mum’s questioning and wondered if maybe I should go see him and his family for Christmas. After all, a real Aussie Christmas with a real Aussie family—that was an experience not a lot of people got. Right?!

  Anything to justify it to yourself, Bianca.

  “I don’t know . . .” I trailed off, uncertain. Wanting to see him, but not unhappy to be spending my day walking around one of Melbourne’s gardens. It was supposed to be beautiful, and the only thing that truly bothered me about my plans was that I’d be alone.

  “Come on, pretty girl. I’ll come get you, I can take you to the Botanic Gardens for a bit, show you where Rose got her head stuck in a bridge one time, then you can come with me to Mum and Dad’s. Sound good?”

  “Did you say, ‘head stuck in a bridge’?” I asked, tempted by the offer and exactly as distracted by the comment that clearly had a story behind it as I was sure Lucas intended me to be.

  “Sure did, and if you agree to my plan, I will tell you what happened. Then we can tease my darling sister about it later today. You can’t top that for entertainment; she hates that story.”

  Giggling because I loved the idea of what he was suggesting and because I really wanted to see him, I agreed to go along with his plan. “Okay, I’m in. But you’d better have a good story to go with that lede.”

  “I don’t have a good story. I have a bloody good story.”

  * * *

  “So, she must’ve been about seven, maybe eight. We were here for New Year’s Day and she wandered off to that bridge.” Lucas pointed past me, and I turned to look at a bridge that curved over a lake. “It looked a bit different then, since this was twenty years ago, but work with me, okay?”

  I nodded and turned to fully face the bridge in question. Lucas had picked me up barely an hour after we talked—it had given me just enough time to call my folks and get ready—and we’d driven straight to the Royal Botanic Gardens.

  Well, no. That’s not totally true. We’d driven straight to the gardens after a long kiss, practically alive with our signature zinging, first.

  “Damn, I missed that mouth, pretty girl.” His words had made my entire body tremble, and I’d had to fight the urge to drag him back into my hostel room and see if we could accomplish bunk bed sex. After all, we’d proven to be pretty good with tight, confined spaces, so I’d thought we’d had a fairly good chance of success.

  “It was New Year’s Day—that’s important, remember that.”

  “Why’s it important?”

  “The Visitor Centre isn’t staffed on Christmas Day—today—and New Year’s Day.”

  “Oh, okay. It’s New Year’s Day and there aren’t any staff around.” I nodded my understanding and waited for him to continue.

  With a kind of animation that came from good memories and a penchant for storytelling, he continued, “So, we’re here for a family get together and Rose is running around with a couple of our cousins. They see this bridge and dare each other to stick their heads between the railings.” He gestured for me to move closer, easily grabbing my hand as we walked across the verdant grass and onto the bridge. The railings he was talking about looked like vertical sticks connecting the top and bottom rungs, but smoother. Spaced about six or seven inches apart, I tried to imagine someone sticking their head between them and failed.

  “Their heads fit?” I asked, surprised but sensing where the story was going. After all, he’d said that Rose got hers stuck, so it must’ve gone in, if not come out.

  “Only Rose’s did, which is both funny and appropriate because she had a massive head as a kid.” He laughed as I backhanded his arm in defense of his (apparently big-headed) sister. “What? She’s grown into it now, which is why you didn’t notice it the other day.”

  “You dick, that’s so mean.” I lifted a hand to my mouth in a lame attempt to hide my own laughter, then gave up.

  “I’ll show you photos when we get to Mum’s. You’ll see.” He leaned down and kissed my cheek. No warning, just a smiling kiss that made my insides flutter and my mind stutter. So simple, so easy. Just a kiss because, I don’t know, the moment called for it? He wanted to? He couldn’t resist?

  I liked the idea that he couldn’t resist most of all.

  Pushing aside the potential why’s of the kiss, I prompted him to continue. “So, they dare each other and then what?”

  “Our cousins tried and failed. Their heads were too big, and they teased Rose about her giant head—that if their normal-sized heads didn’t fit, no way hers would.” He shrugged, as if the logic behind that made perfect sense to him. “Naturally, she got mad and shoved—and I mean, shoved—her head between those rails. To prove a point.”

  “She did prove her point, though, didn’t she? That’s kind of badass, actually.”

  “Did you forget the part where she got stuck?”

  “I mean, no. But still, good for her for accomplishing what they couldn’t.” My voice got quieter as I realized the stupidity of what I was saying, but the urge to praise a fellow woman was strong. Girl power and all that.

  “Right, sure. Good job, Rose.” He scoffed, and I narrowed my eyes at him playfully. His chuckle blended into his next words. “Victory over the cousins or not, it must’ve hurt. In fact, I know it did because her yelp is how I knew what was happening. I went over to check on her and she was crying. And, like, I felt bad, but it was pretty funny too, you have to understand. My sometimes-annoying little sister, bent at the waist, head between the rails and red-faced, while our cousins were desperately explaining that it wasn’t their fault.”

  I conceded his point with a nod. “Did you rescue her?”

  “No. I tried, but her head was too big to just pull back through. And it’s easier to shove in than pull out.” He bit his lip. “Pulling out can be very troublesome, pretty girl. I want you to know that.”

  Rolling my eyes, I acknowledged him with a nod. “Got it. Shoving in, easy. Pulling out, hard. SO hard. The hardest.”

  “It’s really very hard. I should know.”

  Sneaking a quick glance down, my mind awash in images of him and I forgetting ourselves and the condom the other night, I considered whether it was wise to keep the innuendo going.

  Clearing his throat and adjusting himself, Lucas kept talking, making the decision for me. “I angled her head this way and that, but eventually had to call Mum and Dad. Dad tried to angle her head too, and a few other things. Meanwhile, Mum sees Rose stuck like that and that nothing’s working to get her free and yells—” He pauses because laughter takes over, and I have no choice but to join him. It’s contagious.

  At least a full minute passed before he managed to get himself together. “Get this, she yells, ‘Oh my god, they’re going to have to amputate.’ Which was met with dumbfounded silence.”

  “Her head?!” I asked, incredulous, before breaking into a fresh wave of giggles.

  “Her head,” he confirms, reaching out to brush his fingers across my cheek. I could feel the rough heat of him as they skated across my skin, wiping away a gleeful tear as I imagined his poor mom fretting about amputation in a moment of stress.

  I probably shouldn’t have laughed, but what would you do? The visual was too good to ignore.

  Leaning into his hand, enjoying the combination of amusement and whatever it was about him that made my body zing, my laughter died on my lips when I caught the intense look in Lucas’ eyes.

  “You’re gorgeous. I can’t—” Apology was written on his face before he slowly lowered his head and captured my lips with his own.

  And there it was again. In full force and maybe even zingier than ever. That bite of attraction,
that zap of chemistry, that indefinable thing which was making me act and feel crazy.

  Crazy about him.

  His kiss was all I could think about—amputated heads forgotten, I opened for him and moaned at the feel of his tongue slinking into my mouth. My arms came up to wrap around his neck, my fingers toying with the nape, while his settled low on my hips and pulled me forward, closer, until I could feel his arousal pressing against me.

  Pulling his head back, he gazed down between us and swore, bumping my hips again and giving me all kinds of dirty thoughts about ducking down one of the pathways and finding a concealed spot. “Lucas.” My voice was threadbare and breathy and just this side of desperate. I didn’t even know what I planned to say, only that—once again—he was making me forget everything except this thing between us.

  “Bianca, please.” His two words were a stripped bare plea for me, and I couldn’t deny him.

  I didn’t want to.

  “Yes,” I agreed, not knowing exactly what he had planned but needing it nonetheless.

  He ran a hand up my side, caressing my breast and stopping on the ball of my shoulder. It was a quick, simple touch—he didn’t linger—but the way it felt was anything but simple. Continuing down my arm, his hand reached mine, linking our fingers. Time stood still as he brought the back of my hand to his lips for a quick kiss. “Come with me.”

  I nodded, falling into step with him and telling myself that this was okay. It was okay to want him. It was okay to have him. I could agree to this but nothing else. Getting carried away and forgetting that we didn’t know each other, that we’d just met, that we hadn’t had the time to be sure, was dangerous.

  But I am sure. The protest was from the part of me that made the zing happen, and I swear to god, with each touch I shared with Lucas, that voice got louder and more insistent.

  I couldn’t fall prey to it.

  “Here,” he said in a rushed whisper, using his hold on me to spin me around until I was standing in front of him. A quick glance told me we were in some kind of gazebo, not another person in sight.