Page 73 of A Not-So Holiday Paradise
“That’s true,” I admit. Then, because I’m impatient, I say, “Are you almost here?” I suddenly remember my appearance, though, and I add, “Except okay, Beckett, I fully did not expect to see you tonight. So I am gross, okay? Like my hair is gross from traveling and my clothes aren’t cute and I’m not wearing any makeup or—or—” But I break off, stuttering into silence when someone across the square catches my eye.
A shadowy figure, visible mostly from the bright light of the phone he’s holding to his ear. He’s moving directly toward me with surprising speed; he passes the little café where we ate breakfast on Christmas day and then the spot where Alonso and Señorita usually hang out, moving ever closer. I watch him, breathless, my heart almost painful as it pounds in my chest.
And then he’s in front of me, five steps away, four steps, three steps, two steps, one step, but he doesn’t stop—he just keeps walking until he runs right into me, his arms encircling me and holding me tightly to his chest.
“Molly,” he says in a broken whisper. His hands smooth over my hair, up and down my back, over my shoulders and down my arms—like he wants to touch everything and doesn’t know where to start. Like he’s making sure every part of me is in place.
“Could you even see me?” I say. My words come out muffled, since my face is squashed against the hard planes of his body, but in what universe would I ever move from this position of my own free will? “It’s dark. What would you have done if I were just some strange woman you randomly mauled?”
“You knew it was me,” he points out, his lips brushing my ear as he speaks. I shiver and fist my hands more tightly in the soft fabric of his shirt. “Why wouldn’t I know it’s you?” Then he releases me, his hands gripping my shoulders as he holds me at arms’ length and lets his eyes trail over me. I don’t know how much he can see out here, but I let him look his fill; it gives me a chance to do the same thing.
White t-shirt, some sort of neutral shorts. I can see vague shadows of his hair, slightly messy, and the general features of his face. I smile up at him.
“Hi,” I say softly. I was so self-conscious about how I looked, but now that he’s here in front of me, I’m not even thinking about that. I just want to be with him. He doesn’t care if I’m a mess. He’s seen me covered in mud.
“Hi,” he says, exhaling loudly. He reaches up with one hand and brushes his knuckles down my cheek. “Let’s date.”
I blink, my jaw dropping a little. “I—let’s what?”
“Date,” he says again. “Let’s date. You and me.” His voice is calm, matter-of-fact, but the hand that’s still on my shoulder is gripping me too tightly to hide how he really feels. He’s trying not to come on too strong, but…
“You…want this. Want…me,” I say slowly. Tasting the words on my tongue. Savoring them.
He nods, one sharp jerk of his head. “It’s possible that I have become unreasonably attached to you.”
I burst out laughing. “It’s possible?Unreasonablyattached? Sweet-talker.”
In the darkness I can just see the outline of his smile as he grins. “And there’s more where that came from.”
I want to jump right in; I want to take him at his word. But the part of me that’s wanted this for so long is harder to convince. What if he changes his mind? What if long distance gets too hard?
I sigh. “Are you sure, Beckett? Don’t say yes if you aren’t completely sure. I can’t be a fling for you. And if we dated, we might have to do long distance—”
“Yes,” he says breathlessly, stepping closer. “Fine. To all of it. Long distance, short distance, whatever. I just—” I sense rather than see him swallow. “I just need you to be mine. I want to call you whenever I want. I need to take care of you and make sure you’re happy. I want that person to be me.”
His words sound so perfect—soright.“You’resuresure?” I say, my voice bordering on desperate.
“I bought a new couch while you were gone, Molly. One that pulls out into a bed so you’ll have someplace to sleep when you stay with me,” he says patiently. “I accidentally broke a spine off the Christmas cactus and freaked out. I went to the hardware store first thing the next morning to buy glue. I haven’t stopped thinking about you. And I…” He trails off, taking one shuffling step closer. “I’m gonna kiss you.”
He bought a new couch for me? Does he even have room for a couch? His place is tiny. “What?” I say, dazed.
“I’m going to kiss you,” he repeats, his hand sliding up my neck and into my messy hair. His other hand moves to my waist, pulling me toward him until there’s no more space between us. “Molly.”
“Huh?” I say.
“Need to hear you say yes.”
“Yes,” I say quickly. “Kiss me. Date me.”
And against my lips, he murmurs two words: “Good girl.”
And then he’s kissing me. Hands in my hair, at my waist—lips chasing the taste of our future.
I inhale this moment.
I exhale the past.
And then I wrap my arms more tightly around him and kiss him back with everything I have.
