“Relax,” he murmurs, sounding amused, and I realize with a start that my body has stiffened. So I take a deep breath and then let the tension drain out of me, until I’m little more than a limp Heidi noodle being anchored by this gentle giant. I give myself permission to press my face further into his chest, too, breathing him in.
If we become romantically involved, this is the kind of thing that we’ll do. We’ll hug and touch each other and I’ll smell him. Maybe it would be good to try taking those liberties, to see if I like it, to see if it’s something I want to continue doing.
“You always smell good,” I say, my eyes fluttering closed as I relax further into his hug.
“Yeah?” he says.
“Mm-hmm.” I find myself wanting to hug him in return, so I do; I wrap my arms loosely around his waist, interlacing my fingers over his spine.
“You always smell like something tropical.”
I smile. “Coconut,” I say. “It’s my body wash and my shampoo. I like that scent.”
“It’s become a favorite of mine, too,” he says, and I listen in fascination as his voice rumbles through his chest. “For…obvious reasons.”
My cheeks heat. “You make me feel warm,” I say without thinking. “And safe. When we’re standing like this”—I give him a little squeeze—“I feel safe.”
He hums. “Safe is good. I want you to feel safe. With me, but also without me.” He swallows; I hear it, and his voice is hoarse as he goes on, “I want you to be comfortable with me, but I don’t want to be the only place you feel comfortable. I want that for you in all aspects of your life.”
That’s…strangely sweet. I turn my head so that I’m looking up at him, my chin resting on his chest. “I want to hug another man and see if I feel the same way,” I tell him. “I was thinking Calvin.”
For the briefest second, his hand tightens in my hair, a muscle jumping in his jaw. But then he nods. “If you think it will help.”
I stare at him, fascinated. “You don’t like that.”
“Not at all,” he says, a wry smile playing at the corners of his lips. “But you’re in charge, honey.”
“How would I feel if I saw you hugging someone else? Another woman?” I say. I don’t know why I’m asking him; he’s not going to have the answer. I guess I’m letting my thoughts free as they flit through my brain.
“I don’t know,” he says, like I expected him to. He looks down at me, his gaze curious. “How would you feel? How would you feel if you saw me hugging or kissing another woman?”
Kissinganother woman? That’s not the same thing as hugging. Not at all.
But I try to picture it. I try to imagine Soren, his arms tight around some faceless woman, kissing her the way he kissed me, devouring her—
“No,” I blurt out, shoving the image away. “No.”
Soren raises an eyebrow. “No?”
I swallow. “No,” I repeat, my voice firmer. “Don’t—” I break off and clear my throat. “Don’t kiss anyone else. Not right now.”
He nods slowly, and the hand that’s in my hair tightens, pulling slightly. “All right.” His eyes flick to my lips, then away again. “I’ll only kiss you. Good?”
“Good,” I say in a stupidly breathless voice. “And I’ll—I’ll only kiss you.” Not yet. But…
“Whenever you’re ready,” he says, as though he’s reading my mind. His arm tightens around me, holding me more firmly against him. “Whenever and wherever.” Then he says, “Let’s go home.”
* * *
When we get backto Paper Patisserie, Eric is engaged in a lively debate with Calvin and Gemma somewhere back by the bookshop counter. I can’t tell what the debate is about yet, but I can hear their voices the second I walk in, all trying to talk over each other.
The little bell jingles overhead upon our entrance, a cheerful sound I’ve always loved, and it cuts through the sound of my brother and my friends. I inhale deeply, enjoying the smell of the baked goods from the café.
Is there a better smell than books and scones and fresh spring air? I don’t think so. So I take one more whiff, letting my eyes flutter closed, savoring the peaceful moment before I have to launch myself into whatever’s going on back there.
“It smells great, Mel,” I call, and behind the bakery counter, around the corner that leads to the kitchen proper, I see her hand waving her thanks.
From behind me I feel Soren’s hands come to rest on my shoulders, and my mind jumps back to when he did the same thing the day Carmina passed. I shiver at his touch; maybe because his hands are warm and the air conditioning has chilly teeth against my skin, or maybe simply because it’s him.
