My question is unspoken, but she still reads it clearly through my inquiring gaze.
“That first day at the Remi,” she says softly, “You told me you’d always wanted to visit Brazil. It’s silly —” She shrugs her shoulders as if trying to dismiss the grandness of her gesture. “But I thought, the closest thing toactuallyvisiting Brazil was to maybe … bring Brazil toyou.”
My eyes are still fixed on hers, a thousand thoughts tumbling over one another in my head.
No one has ever done something like this for me.
No one has ever thought about me long enough to surprise me like this.
Or … cared enough.
I lack the words to expresshow I feel.
It’s too big—larger than life.
She shifts in place as if getting antsy, waiting for me to react.
“Here.” She hands me a remote control. “The footage is from a drone live stream, you can control where it goes.” Then, she starts to babble. “I wasn’t sure what exactly you’d like to see, like are you a beach guy? Or more of an Amazon and waterfalls kind of guy? Then I remembered about these really cool sand dunes in the Maranhão state and —”
Slowly, I raise my hand and curl my fingers around her extended wrist. As soon as our skin touches, she stops talking, her eyes wide and penetrating.
“Thank you,” I rasp.
She bites her bottom lip, never letting her gaze stray and swallows hard. Her mouth falls open as if wanting to say something, but it takes several seconds for her to speak. And when she does, my chest cracks wide open.
“You’re not meaningless, Huxley.”
30
CONNIE
Huxley hasn’t said a word since I last spoke, and my heart is beating so fast I think I might pass out. He hasn’t broken contact, his gaze steady, and the tension builds between us with every silent breath we take.
I don’t know why I’m this nervous—why Huxley’s hand around my wrist is affecting me this much.
But it is.
Like a red hot brand, his fingers burn through my skin, forever leaving a mark on me.
Finally, he breaks the silence and speaks, slicing through every unspoken thought and desire lingering between us.
“Come here.” His voice is low and needy, and my head starts to spin.
He pulls me down to him, my knees hitting the mattress first, but Huxley pushes my shoulder and flips us so that I fall on my back, Huxley’s torso on top of me.
My hands slip around his neck as a feeling of giddiness envelops me. I giggle, and he chuckles too, smiling against my lips before kissing me softly. The kiss is tender and slow, his tongue exploratory as if we have all the time in the world.
His hand is just as patient, caressing up my thigh and hip, slipping under my sweater then dipping back out. There’s something quite possessive about the casual slowness of his touch. It’s as if he knows that I’m not going anywhere, that he has all the time to make me his.
He isn’t wrong.
I’d seek eternal life if it meant staying in this moment with him forever. It’s a pure feeling, untainted by any of the other bullshit trying to ruin it for us.
Huxley pulls away, his eyes now a shade darker. They’re intense and focused. His gaze makes me feel like I’m the only thing that matters in the world right now.
He pushes himself up and sits, taking off his hoodie as he does so. Then he reaches for the back of his t-shirt but pauses, his arm still raised as if needing to see some kind of confirmation in my gaze before baring himself to me.
I answer his question by sitting up and helping him pull off his shirt. Still, we keep our same slow pace, our actions unrushed. It only makes everything more intense, more intentional.
