by Kris Bryant
“Are you making fun of me?”
She sat up and leaned closer to me. I felt my heart kick-start when I realized she was going to kiss me. “Maybe a little bit.” Her lips brushed against mine, slowly, teasingly, until I reached up and slipped my hand behind her neck to hold her close to me.
I needed a deeper connection. I wanted more. She moaned and moved closer to me, putting one hand on my leg and the other on my shoulder. I felt her hesitation, and although I appreciated her restraint, I wanted more. Twenty minutes of simple touching had me burning.
“Come here,” I said. I didn’t know how she could get closer without both of us stretching out next to one another on the couch, but I just knew I needed her body against mine. The forgotten movie played on as Hope slipped out from beneath my blanket and straddled my lap. I gasped and sat up straighter as our bodies touched everywhere. I wasn’t nervous or scared, just unsure.
“Is this okay?” she asked, placing soft kisses on my cheeks.
“Definitely.” I went with my instincts and placed one hand on her waist, and slipped the other one on the back of her neck. She moaned her appreciation. My nod encouraged her more. She deepened the kiss and held me. I finally understood chemistry between people and the desire to act on it. Every part of my body was in tune with hers. My skin tingled, my cheeks were flushed, and I was swollen in places that needed attention. I hadn’t had sex with anyone before, but I knew my own body well. I needed release. When her hips pressed down and into my lap, I pushed up into her out of sheer instinct to get closer.
She broke the kiss. “Wait, wait, wait. I feel like we should slow down.” Her breath was hot and fast against my lips.
“I’m okay. I promise.” I cupped her face and pulled her down to me. Our passion was fierce, almost furious, and I didn’t want to stop.
She pulled away again. “I know you are, but I don’t know about myself,” she said.
I froze and dropped my hands from her body. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable.”
“You didn’t. At all. But I still need you to slow down.”
I nodded. I hated rejection of any kind. I wasn’t good with it, especially since this was the first time I’d felt something so special and open with another person. My chin started to quiver, so I looked away and focused on everything but the beautiful woman on my lap who didn’t want me as much as I wanted her. The movie boomed in my ears. The rain’s rhythm that pinged imperfectly only intensified my discomfort. I couldn’t allow myself to cry.
Hope pulled my chin up and forced me to look at her. “Lily, I’m not uncomfortable at all. I want you. I want this. I just want to go slow. I want everything to matter. For both of us,” she quickly added. She stroked my cheek until I nodded. She slipped off my lap but ensured we were still touching, still connected.
I took a deep breath. “Okay. Can we either start the movie over or try something different?”
“Let’s try something else. Anything you want. Even a documentary. I could use a good nap.” She smiled softly and eased back into charming Hope.
I picked a National Geographic special of a photographer and her journey through the Arctic Circle. Hope seemed genuinely interested in the subject.
“I do have one request. Can we lie on the couch? I would like for you to hold me, if that’s all right?”
My smile returned. I stretched out on the couch and tucked her in front of me. I wasn’t sure where to put my arm, but Hope pulled it down from the back of the couch and draped it over her waist.
“This is nice.” I wasn’t sure if I said it out loud, but when Hope responded I gave her a quick squeeze. A few hours before, I was a complete wreck and didn’t know how this night was going to end up, but it turned out better than I expected. I knew what was in store for us and that our chemistry wasn’t something to take lightly.
Chapter Twelve
“How do you feel about Impressionist art? Or, more importantly, what’s your favorite period?” I asked. I heard Hope smile through the phone. I perked up when I heard a few notes on the piano. “Are you playing right now? Wait. Am I interrupting a lesson?”
“No, I’m just warming up. It’s nice to hear from you. How are you?”
I pictured her poised at the keys, her fingertips rubbing the top of the slick ivory, itching to press down and make a sound.
“Play something for me,” I said. It sounded too demanding. “I mean, I miss hearing you play. Just pretend I’m standing under the window.”
“Ah, another joke from Lily Croft. I love it.”
My heart catapulted in my chest at that word. Love. It wasn’t one that was said to me often. I knew she was saying it without thought. People said that all the time. I just hadn’t heard Hope say it before. I really liked it. I heard the phone rustle and pictured her putting it on the music rack. She played Beethoven’s “Sonata in D Minor.” Not only did she play the entire song, but she did it perfectly. There wasn’t a single mistake. It left me breathless.
“That’s a great warm-up song for me.”
I didn’t know what to say. I stumbled around, took a deep breath, and finally spoke. “That was brilliant, Hope. It was beautiful. Thank you for playing that for me.” She was inspiring. Every aspect of her.
“Thank you. Now tell me about art. Why all the questions?” There was pride and laughter in her voice. She wanted to impress me but was embarrassed by my praise. It was sweet.
“You said you wanted me to take you to an art museum, and there’s a really nice exhibit passing through that might be fun. The Art Institute is open late on Thursday. Would you like to go? Maybe we can grab dinner after?” I held my breath. If she said yes, it would be the first time I would see her since our halted makeout session. I was still embarrassed thinking about it, but when she said good night, our passion resurfaced. There was a lot of touching and kissing in my doorway until my neighbor opened his door and interrupted us on his way out for the evening.
“That sounds lovely. Do you want me to meet you at your place?”
“Why don’t we just meet there at six thirty? The museum is equal distance between us and then maybe come back to my place to eat or just hang out?” Desperation clung to every word. I heard it and I’m sure she did, too.
“Even better.”
“Now go play. Play music, I mean,” I said.
“How’s your new project?”
I smiled. She was stalling. She wanted to talk. “Meh, it’s okay. I understand why everyone walked away from it.”
“I don’t like that your company takes advantage of you like this.”
I didn’t need to defend my company. I knew they were taking advantage, but they were paying me well for it.
“I’m all right with it. Really. My boss knows the crap he hands me. He knows I can go anywhere, so he compensates me well.” I knew that once Gene found out about Mr. Hoyt’s offer of employment, he was going to give me a bump in salary or add to my quarterly bonus.
“Okay, I’ll leave it alone. For now. Get back to work. I’ll see you soon.”
It took me a while to get my head back into work. Hope’s playing was beautiful. And she played just for me. I opened the piano app on my phone and stared at it. It was time. At least the phone screen wasn’t as intimidating as it was a few weeks ago. I wiped my hands on my pants and tried to play something on the five-inch piano. I rolled my eyes at how bad it sounded and how awkward it was.
For the first time in forever, I felt brave. Maybe I was ready for the next step. I popped over to a popular shopping website and looked at all of the keyboards there. By the time I found something that would produce a decent sound, I was already in the thousands for a studio piano and a baby grand was only a few thousand more. I looked around my place. There was definitely room for it, but could I make such a commitment? What if I freaked out the minute it arrived? Baby steps. I sighed, closed out the tab, and made myself focus on work. I’d waited thirteen years to touch piano keys. I could wait
a little longer.
We were in the process of securing a new client, and I needed to stay on task. I had all the numbers and statistics but couldn’t focus enough to connect them into something coherent. Random losses. Deductibles. What was the probability of payout? What’s the probability of Hope playing for me again? No. Get out of my head, Hope. I pointed to the problem on the screen to stay focused, but my mind ran away with a girl with long brown hair and red lips who kissed life back into me.
I leaned back in my chair, interlocked my fingers behind my head, and stared up at the twelve-foot-high ceiling. Was I lucky? Was Hope meant to be in my life? I felt alive for the first time in years so I knew that she was good for me, but I struggled with the thought that I just might not be good for her.
***
“I didn’t know this was fancy.” Hope sipped on a glass of wine and took in our surroundings.
“Oh, stop. You look beautiful.” My heart skipped when she turned to me in surprise.
“Thank you. That was sweet of you to say.”
She stood in front of me wearing jeans, a sleeveless top, and strappy sandals. She fit right in. Some people were dressed in suits, but some casual patrons were in shorts and flip-flops. When in doubt, I always put on a summer dress. I was self-conscious about my pale skin in the middle of summer, but no tan lines meant I could wear anything. I was never allowed to sunbathe. It was the one thing my parents did right by me.
“Come on. Let’s walk around for a bit.”
My throat tightened and I pushed my heart back into place when she casually grabbed my hand and walked with me into the first room. I averted my eyes when people glanced our way.
“Does this make you uncomfortable?” She held up our joined hands.
“No. I’m just not used to it. I like it, though,” I added. I loosened my grip, afraid Hope would feel the moisture that gathered on my palms. If she noticed, she was kind enough to not pull away. A walking tour with headsets was available for the exhibit, but Hope declined and asked me to tell her what I knew. My anxiety spiked. Reason number two hundred and fifty-seven of why I never wanted to be a professor.
“All right. Um. So Van Gogh found success after he died. Well, he didn’t, but his work did.” I felt beads of sweat push along my hairline. “Um. He was mentally ill and painted multiple versions of Starry Night while living in a mental institute. He died when he was pretty young after a suicide attempt that either went wrong or was successful, depending on how you look at it.”
“Well, that’s depressing. Do you have anything good to share about him?”
I inwardly groaned. I wasn’t impressing her, I was depressing her with my knowledge. “He had good friends. His best friend was actually his brother Theo. Of course you know the story of him cutting off his own ear, right?” I asked. She nodded. “Okay, that’s not really uplifting. Let’s see, he painted a ton of self-portraits. You know, maybe we should grab the headset. I’m obviously really bad at this.” I felt her hand squeeze mine.
“You’re giving me more information than they could on one of those recordings. What else?”
Hope was genuinely interested in what I had to say, and by the end of the tour and after a glass of wine, I was far more relaxed. We both learned about the differences in American and European style and interpretation of Post-Impressionism.
“Do I know you?” A man immediately to my right startled me out of my conversation with Hope. My walls shot up and I took a step back. Hope took a step closer to position herself between me and him. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your conversation, but you just look so familiar.”
“No, I don’t think so.” I took another step back and looked for a way to anywhere else but here.
“Do you come to these events a lot? Or do you work with the museum in some capacity?” He reached out to touch me, then drew his hand back as if he suddenly remembered that was unacceptable.
If this guy whom I’d never seen before thought he knew me, he knew Jillian, not Lily. I never forgot a face. I should have known to avoid an event like this. Most music aficionados loved all art forms, especially fine arts. I still looked the same. My hair was darker than when I was younger, but it was still long, and even though I grew into my pronounced features, somebody could identify me easily enough.
“I guess she doesn’t know you, sir. Please enjoy your evening. This is a great exhibit,” Hope said. She gently led me away from him, her hand firmly settled on my lower back. “He was kind of rude.”
I looked back at him for a flash of a second. He was studying me intently, and I desperately wanted out of there.
“Hey, are you okay? I know crowds aren’t your thing. Are you ready for dinner? I’m pretty hungry.”
I appreciated her efforts and nodded. “I could use something other than cheese and crackers.” Community food plates always made me queasy, but I needed something in my stomach to combat my nerves and the wine. “And thank you for rescuing me. Again.”
“Let’s grab something on the way back to your house. I think we’ve seen everything here at the exhibit.”
It was almost nine and I was uneasy, but I wanted alone time with Hope. She hailed a cab and we crawled in and relaxed against one another during the short ride. Hope ran her fingertips up and down my forearm—almost absently, as if she touched me every day—and talked about the night.
“I really liked the trio. As much as I love the piano, I have a deep appreciation for the violin. It looks so easy, but the manipulation of just a flick of a wrist can change the melody of something.”
I smiled. I loved that she had such a deep understanding of all instruments. When I arranged my first composition, I had fits of epic proportions. I was eleven at the time, but when it was done, it was my greatest success. The violin was the hardest for me to master. I never truly conquered it.
“It’s nice to hear live music again.” I stiffened, knowing I’d revealed a sliver of my past without meaning to.
“You have such a good ear. Do you attend the symphony much?”
“The only music I listen to is Hope D’Marco and children who perform with her.”
“Such a charmer, you are.” She nudged me gently. “We should go listen to music sometime. Either classical or jazz or whatever you want. Do you listen to mainstream music?”
“You mean on the radio? No, not really.” I left out the part about how I didn’t have a radio in my house. Music wasn’t as comforting to me as it was to her. I still felt the need to master it.
I found comfort in sounds I couldn’t control—crisp steps that echoed in a long hallway, rain that impatiently drummed against my windows, birds that chirped over the heavy rustling of traffic, elevators that dinged in the distance on my floor. The only music I listened to was jazz because it was so far removed from the kind of music I composed and played. The old jazz greats like Duke Ellington and Louis Armstrong were on my phone, but I only listened in the privacy of my ear buds. There were enough sounds in everyday life to keep my mind busy.
By the time we got to my place, we were both stifling yawns. Clio greeted us, knowing full well he was going to get bites of whatever Hope was eating. He’d given up on me. Traitor. He weaved in and out of her legs until she reached down and petted him.
“Don’t worry, big boy. I have tasty cheese for you.” She leaned against the counter and watched me as I got plates and drinks ready for us.
The guy at the museum who obviously recognized me from my youth really rattled me. I knew there was a very slight chance that would happen, but I had tucked that possibility into the back of my mind and filed it under the “never again” category. Just because I checked out and forgot about that life didn’t mean the rest of the world forgot about me.
We ate in silence. The only noise was Clio’s constant purr as he sat between us and shamelessly pawed at our plates.
I swallowed my last bite. “You’ve spoiled him.” I was hungrier than I thought.
“He deserves it. Such a hard lif
e out on the streets. Poor baby.” She kissed the top of his head and he rubbed his jaw along her chin.
“So his dander doesn’t bother you?” I’d vacuumed and cleaned right before I left to meet her tonight, but with Clio right in her face, I was sure the sneezing was going to commence any moment.
“Apparently I’m not allergic to him. Good news.” Hope gave him one final bite, then gently moved him to the other side of her and scooted closer to me. “Thank you for dinner. I’m sorry our evening got ruined by some rude jerk.” She ran her fingertip along my neck, and I jerked with sensitivity.
“It was still a good night. Before and now,” I said.
“Such a sweet talker.” She leaned over and silenced me with a soft kiss. It wasn’t a passionate one, but it made me feel safe and warmed me in a different way. “I should probably go before I fall asleep right here on this couch and do something embarrassing like snore or drool.”
I wanted her to stay, but I understood. I needed the downtime, too. “Can I see you this weekend?”
She played with the straps on my dress when I walked her to the door. “Basically I’m going straight to bed, I’ll sleep hard, wake up, play the piano, then why don’t you come over to my place? I’ll cook dinner.” She pulled me into her arms, her breath tickling the tiny hairs on the back of my neck as she held me close to her body. I was getting used to her nearness and I craved more.
“That sounds perfect. When do you want me?”
She lifted her eyebrow when she peeled herself off me. “Whenever you’re ready.”
Chapter Thirteen
“Clio, I have a good feeling about this.” I slipped on my light tan sandals and ran my hands over my hair in an effort to smooth down my waves.
The humidity wreaked havoc on it and there was only one thing I could do. Use product. Lots of hair product. After fifteen minutes of battling with it, I gave up and threw it back in a bun. In the winter, my hair was magical. Summertime? I couldn’t pay enough for help.