Waiting For Us [COMPLETED]

chapter 33 - a trip to the museum

Talia:

It's so beautiful I might die.

There's so many stairs, so that might be a better reason for death than just staring at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I hate stairs.

The white marble structure is an entire beast of architecture. It spans almost a quarter of a mile of land and is the largest museum in the world, according to the brochure I found in the hotel. I read the whole pamphlet front to cover in order to understand the place of my dreams. I also originally promised Grayson that I would take him on a tour of the museum, so I at least needed to have some prior knowledge.

Now, being in front of the building, I can barely contain my joy. I'm so happy I squeak with excitement as I turn and look at my boyfriend next to me. Grayson's already staring at me in a way that makes me want to melt onto the stairs.

"I feel like I'm dreaming," I admit, displaying a bright smile. I reach out with both hands and hold his right hand tightly. "Can you pinch me?"

I close my eyes and wait for him to pinch me awake from this amazing dream. Instead, my hands are lifted by his one hand, and his lips press a gentle kiss to my knuckles. I open my eyes and stare up at him with only a slightly annoyed look. His own eyes appear glossed over.

"I said to pinch me."

He shakes his head and gives me his famous lopsided smile. "There was no need to hurt you."

I laugh and roll my eyes, two actions that probably contradict each other. I take a few steps up on the stairs, waving him forward. "Come on, I want to explore as much as possible."

Grayson's steps are heard close behind me, as well as a clearing of his throat to catch my attention. I stop moving and look back at him. Two steps separate us, which makes us eye level with each other. He extends his hand. "Hold my hand, daisy. I wouldn't want to lose you."

His words alert my brain of the time we first visited a museum together, before I even realized what the feelings I experienced for him were. We were broken apart in the streets of Washington, D.C. for a moment, and we used that as an excuse to keep holding each other's hand. And here he is, making that same request.

I wouldn't want to lose you.

There's a new feeling that connects to that phrase. It erupts something deep inside me that insists I never want to be separated from Grayson. Not in the annoyingly attached way that means I want to be around him 24/7, but the kind that means I don't want to find myself in a position where I'll never be able to see him again. Or hold him again. Or talk to him again. Or anything that would make me miss him.

I close the gap between us on the steps and kiss his lips without warning, throwing my arms around him and pulling him close. He tastes like happiness, if that's even possible; with him, it does. His lips push roughly against mine, his whole body leaning into me, desperate for more. I'm just as needy and match his pace. When we pull apart, both of us need a moment to recover from the heat-of-the-moment kiss.