She finally straightens up and shakes her hair out of the way. Tears cloud her eyes, but I stare past them, pinning her gaze withmine.
“Christina,” I begin, thankful my voice somehow isn’t shaking, “I’m going to tell you something, something I’ve told very few people about. That girl in the photos you saw, her name was Tiffany. Tiff. She died just over a yearago.”
Christina’s hand flies to cover her mouth. “Oh god, Aaron,” she murmurs, “I’m sosorry.”
“Don’t be. I’m the one who should be sorry. You deserved to know, before I let things between you and I go so far. You were right, you know. Whether or not she was alive, I wasn’t ready to move on. You...You made me want to be, though. You made me feel like I couldbe.”
Christina just nods, her hand still clamped over hermouth.
“It messed me up, losing her. I’mstillpretty messed up about it. I’m sorry I ended up hurting you because of it. I don’t expect you to want to deal with all that. That’s not what I’m here to ask you to do. I just wanted you to know. I just wanted you to see”— I gesture to the pictures she still has clutched in one hand— “that I do care about you, and admire you, and...like you. Alot.”
“Aaron...”
She drops her hand from her mouth and closes the folder, offering it back to me. My chest starts to cave in when I realize she doesn’t want them. I turn my head to the side, staring down at the dark blue airportcarpeting.
“They’re yours,” I tell her, my voice hollow. “You can throw them out of you want, but they’reyours.”
She lets out an exasperated huff. “Take the god damn pictures, Aaron. I’m about to climb you like a tree and I don’t want them to getwrecked.”
I look back at her and find that she’s crying and smiling at the same time. I’m too stunned to move, and she rolls her eyes before setting the folder down on her suitcase and closing the gap between us. She throws her arms around my neck and before I can even process what’s going on, her lips findmine.
My eyes close and the pressure of her mouth, the shape of it as it moulds with mine, is so sweet and familiar that it jolts my brain into responding. I grip her hips with both my hands, bunching up the fabric of her shirt. When she leans harder into me and shifts herself up onto the balls of her feet, I take the queue to grab hold of her thighs and lift her up so she can wrap her legs aroundme.
I forget that we’re in an airport. I forget that there’s a line of passengers standing only a few feet away from us. I forget that Christina’s about to get on a plane and that I just blew a quarter of all my savings away so I could reach her. All I’m aware of is the heat of her body, the taste of her tongue as I tease it with mine, and the thumping bass of my heartbeat as it pounds out the happiness I feel coursing through all of myveins.
She feels sorightin my arms, like she fills up spaces I didn’t even know were empty. The fact that I almost lost this, almost forfeited the chance to ever feel this again, makes me hold her even tighter againstme.
We break apart, panting for air, as a voice announces the last boarding call for Christina’s flight. Turning towards the gate, I see that the line has disappeared. The attendant who made the announcement is giving us a pointed stare. Christina just laughs and lets her feet slide back down to the ground, though her arms stay wrapped around myneck.
“I have to get on that flight,” she says, giving me a dazed grin, “but now I kind of don’t wantto.”
I reach up and lift her arms away, stepping back so I have room to dig around in my pocket. I fish out my boarding pass and hand it toher.
“Does this change how youfeel?”
Her eyes scan the details on the ticket and she gasps. “How did you...How?”
I shrug, trying to play it casual. “How? I’m Aaron Penn, Peaches. That’show.”
She throws her hands up in the air and lets out a string of vehement sounding Portuguese words, then reaches over and punches me in thearm.
“Hey!” I shout. “I told you, that hurts like abitch.”
“Good,” she grunts, giving me a secondpunch.
I’m saved from earning myself any permanent injuries when another announcement comes on. “This is thefinal boarding callfor flight AC17 toLisbon.”
We both look to find the attendant gripping his microphone, shooting daggers atus.
“Come on,” says Christina, grabbing the handle of her suitcase. “Wait, where’s yourbag?”
“I uh, don’t have one,” I answer. “I wasn’t actually planning to get on aplane.”
We start walking over to the gate. The attendant scans our passes and waves us through. The wheels of Christina’s suitcase echo as we head through the tunnel that leads to theplane.
“Youaregoing to have to fill me in on how you got here,” she tellsme.
“It’s a thrilling tale.” I bound a few steps ahead of her and start walking backwards, not wanting to take my eyes off her for a second. “I had to fight through security with the help of my punk rock spirit guide. We took out a few guards along the way. I’m actually on the airport’s most wanted list now, so we better hope this plane leaves before they catch up withme.”
Christina shakes her head. “You’recrazy.”
I stop in the middle of the tunnel and block her from going any farther. Hooking my finger under her chin, I tilt her head back and press my mouth to hers for just asecond.
“For you,” I tell her, “yeah, Iam.”
