Page 24 of The Meet Queue-t
“I’m sorry,” I say, and although his expression doesn’t change, I think maybe his eyes soften. “I said that because I was scared. Petrified, to be honest, because everyone I’ve ever cared about has left me. And you’ve met Brandon. It’s not like I’m an expert in the love department.” I twist my fingers in the hem of my hoodie, knotting them in the material. “And I’m afraid because when I look at you, I can’t see a single reason why you’d want to be with me.”
He takes a single step towards me. “Tessa.”
I hold up my hand to stop him. “Let me finish. I had a speech planned out in my head and everything.” I take a deep breath. “Ever since we got the diagnosis, I think I’ve been scared of wanting things for myself in case they get taken away. But that’s not living. And Mum would want me to live. She’d want me towantthings in life.” My lips are dry, so I moisten them, trying to find the courage to say the next part. But he’s patient, giving me the space I need to say it, even though he’s already missed his train because of me, and I can’t waste that patience. “Coming here,” I say, the words tumbling over one another, “the thing that made me feel better wasn’t any of the things I was expecting. It was meeting you.”
Silence. His eyes are warm, face soft, mouth curving up at the corner. The stiffness has left his demeanour, but he’s still not saying anything, and I wonder if I was totally misreading the situation. If he’s not interested in me, then I’ve made the biggest fool out of myself. Already, I can feel myself cringing back into a ball at the idea of it.
“Is that the end of your speech, or did you have anything else planned?” he asks.
“That was the end. You can speak now. If you want to.” My nerve fails me. “Or,” I say, turning on my heel, “we can pretend this whole thing never happened.”
He reaches out and grabs my arm, preventing me from fleeing. “Tess,” he says, and my name is magical in his voice. “Do you know why I got off that train?”
“You were on the train?” I frown. “I was looking for you everywhere.”
“I gotoffthe train,” he continues, “because I felt it too. And if you had something to say to me, I wanted to hear it. What does that tell you?”
“That you’re going to miss your train?”
He huffs something that might be a laugh, but I’m no longer scared he’s laughing at me. “I’m going to pretend you’re being deliberately obtuse.”
“Sometimes, when you talk, you remind me that I never finished my English degree.”
He rolls his eyes, and when he looks back down at me, his gaze drops to my lips. My heart stutters. “Shut up,” he says, bringing his thumb to my chin. Then my bottom lip. His other hand is still around my elbow, and our chests brush together. I can’t remember when we got this close, but I never want to move away. My boot nudges his shoe. His breath whispers across my face.
“Shutting,” I whisper. “Are you going to kiss me now?”
His eyes crinkle as he smiles, and his nose bumps mine. I can’t breathe, but in the best way. For the first time in years, I feel alive. Heart beating, skin singing, nerves dancing. There’s excitement in my stomach and anticipation in my chest, and it’s all because of this man.
I don’t know if twelve hours is enough time to fall in love with someone, but it’s definitely enough to make me feel like I’m flying as he finally closes the distance between us. His lips brush against mine, finding their rhythm, and I fist my hand in his jumper so I don’t get carried away. But when he leans back, assessing my response, I chase him. He laughs a little, and I catch thesound in my mouth. Our teeth bump, and this time it’s my turn to laugh, but the hand on my chin slides in my hair and I tilt my head just slightly, and we slot into place like we were born to do this. Our tongues meet, and he makes a tiny sound in the back of his throat, fingers tightening on my elbow. I tug him closer.
I can feel my pulse in every part of me. This is electric. Bottled lightning. Nothing has ever felt like this before, and I can’t tell if it’s because I’m deliriously tired or because of him.
I suspect I know the answer.
Heat slides through my body with every movement of his mouth against mine, and I want him everywhere.
When he finally breaks apart for real, his eyes are glazed, and I’m pretty sure mine are, too. I push his glasses back up his nose and he grins at me, that dimple flashing. I press my finger against it.
“I think I first wanted to kiss you when I saw your dimple,” I say. “It’s my weakness.”
“I first wanted to kiss you when you lied and told me you weren’t staring at me.”
“We hadn’t even had a conversation by that point,” I protest, but I’m blushing. “Also, you’re supposed to believe me when I lie to save face.”
“It was adorable. And I fell for it immediately.”
I can’t believe he’s so open about admitting to liking me. That’s something I’m going to have to get better at.
Baby steps.
“I really was surprised to see you reading,” I say, because it’s true. Even if that wasn’tstrictlythe reason he caught me staring. “What was it, anyway?”
“Assassin’s Apprenticeby Robin Hobb,” he says, the hand on my elbow moving to the small of my back, keeping me flush against him. “I fully intended to read my students’ papers while queueing, but that didn’t happen.”
“Book too good?”
“That, and I found something I’d rather be doing.”
