Someone Else's Fairytale

Twenty-Two: His Question

“So... yeah,” Jason said. He paced my living room.

My hand was going numb from holding the freezing container of ice cream, so I sidled on over to the counter and put it down. I tried to keep myself between him and it.

“One question,” he said.

“Okay.”

“It... you can blame my sister. I... she... I just spoke to her and...” He scrubbed his hands through his hair, wiping away the last of the snow.

I waited.

“Did the rules change?” he asked. “You know, between you and me? Would... would kissing be allowed now?”

My heart just about stopped.

“You know what? Never mind. Stupid question.” He turned to leave.

I had seconds before he stepped out the door and was gone for good. “Wait,” I said, only it came out as a whisper.  A mass the size of a grapefruit had formed in my throat. I coughed. “Jason,” I tried again.

“What?” He had his hand on the knob, but he turned to look at me.

“Yeah.” Saying the word felt like stepping off a cliff and going into free fall, plummeting without knowing if he was going to catch me or just leave me in a crushed heap at the bottom.

“Yeah what?”

Come on, Chloe, I thought. English is your first language. Try to speak it coherently. I pressed myself against the counter. It only provided a narrow ridge of support across my lower back, but it was better than nothing. I felt like I was plunging farther and farther down into the abyss, picking up more and more speed while I tried to piece together a sentence.

He let go of the doorknob and came over to me, stepping way closer than we'd ever stood as friends. He kept his gaze locked with mine and slowly, as if he wasn't sure what he was doing, he reached out and stroked my hair, gentle as a butterfly. All the while he looked like he was waiting for me to either jerk away or punch him.

I was a mess, and still tumbling headlong. He looked at me as if both desperate to hear what I had to say and terrified of breaking the tension, because he didn't know what lay beyond it.

Don't screw this up, I thought. Speaking was out of the question. It'd release a torrent of nonsense, so I put my hand on his chest and leaned up to kiss him.

He kissed back and his hand spasmed against my cheek. His lips were cold from the chill outside.

When I broke it off, he looked down at me, still uncertain, though now there was a flicker of hope in his expression.

I couldn't believe that I was still in freefall. The kiss hadn't ended the sensation. But this was Jason Vanderholt. Women threw themselves at him for all kinds of reasons. The man who looked into my eyes right now was smart enough to wait for me to explain myself, rather than take the kiss as an answer. He wanted to know what I wanted, in concrete terms.

My thoughts scrabbled in a vain attempt to come together. “I love you,” I heard myself say.

His hand grasped my shoulder and he took a breath that sounded like something between a gasp and a sob. “I love you, too.”

That, finally, put a stop to my headlong plunge. I took a breath, then another. Yes, he was all wrong for me. Still, those eyes were now searching my face as if I were Venus in all her glory.

He leaned in and, with a pause to look me in the eye for permission, kissed me again, first hesitantly, and then as if he never wanted to stop. A flood of emotion spilled loose inside of me. I slipped my arms around his neck and felt his arms go around my waist. It was a million times more intense than I'd imagined, even at my loneliest times when I'd hugged my pillow and wished he were there. His mouth warmed against mine as the kiss went on and on, making my heart race and my head spin. When he broke off, there were tears in his eyes, real tears!