After a tragedy, Amila Johnson abandons her life in New York and retreats back to her birthplace of Houston. She tries to start anew but she can't get far with the skills of being an almost classically trained ballerina.
Deciding to take up her fri...
"Huh?" Amila sounded lifting her eyes from the spot on the title page of Alyssa Cole's thriller. She blinked trying to call her mind back from the faraway land of memories until she fully remembered where she presently was. Her hand went to the buckle around her waist as she sat in a leather seat that competed with the clouds floating outside the window in a contest of the world's softest.
She gave him a smile that curved her mouth but lacked the joy it had when they were back in the kitchen getting lost in conversation and eating too many pancakes. It had been a little over two hours since she told him habanero Picante sauce was better on eggs and he negated holding firm to his notion that hot sauce was the best choice but it felt like more; like five or many twenty.
"Is it any good?" He reformed his previous question moving his hand off the keyboard of the laptop on the table in front of them that had been topped with a cheese platter and a bottle of wine, all of which she didn't remember being there before she slipped into the vast world of her cerebrum.
He tapped the opposite page of her book that was closer to him and she knew what he was asking.
"I just started." She turned the page to the actual first chapter and corrected her response. "I'm starting."
"Are you okay?" Lines were crafting between his eyebrows as he studied her intently then he pushed his laptop a few centimeters away as if the way she looked was more important than the emails he was checking. "And before you answer, remember what we promised to do, to be honest with each other. We never had a problem talking about our lives so..." He shifted his body towards her giving her his full attention. "Give it to me."
He gestured for her to speak and she flashed that lackluster smile once more as she pushed his hand down. He let her achieve her mission, lowering his hand but claiming hers in return.
He stroked his thumb over the supple skin of her hand, "What's making you sad so I can fix it?"
"You can't." She quietly admitted, turning away from him to blink back the tears. "You're not God or some mystical being that can breathe life back into the dead." She sniffed, wishing those things were possible. It was one of the reasons why she loved science fiction and fantasy. The concrete finality of life and the capability of humans weren't as limited as they were in reality.
There was always some magical potion hidden in a cave in the middle of a jungle guarded by vicious creatures or some villainous powerful being that would give a backhanded deal to grant you the desire of your heart. She wished she could find that in the real world but unfortunately, those things didn't exist and she was left with a hollowness that pain and sorrow loved to fill.
He nodded as if he knew all the facts about what was hurting her. "I can't erase what makes you sad or bring someone back to life but I'm a good listener and I heard that talking about it helps." He shook his head at himself and then corrected. "Someone told me that at my uncle's funeral but it wasn't advice I needed because I didn't know him much but maybe it'll help you."
"It helps." Those were words her therapist told her after their two sessions of her just sitting there giving the woman one-word answers. She let out a heavy grief-laden breath, sat her head back against the chair, and took in the sight of him; his masculine features didn't hold any of the ferocity society proclaimed they possessed. She wondered if he was as gentle to everyone as he was to her.
"I needed my passport for this trip and had to..." She stopped, as a wave of emotions hit the shore of her heart. She inhaled again as her eyes watered. "It was in the box with my keepsakes and I found this picture of my family...we were smiling...and...it hurts that..." Her voice broke with the sorrow that burned her throat trying to render her silent and instead of talking curl into a ball and weep.
He kissed the back of her hand and she let the tears fall and then cleared her throat. "I gave ballet all of me and if I wasn't still there getting in one more practice with the instructor I would've been there earlier and the carbon monoxide wouldn't have..." Her shoulders shook. "I could've saved them."
"Or you could've arrived early and faced the same fate. Amila.." He spoke her name like it was the sweetest arrangement of letters for all time as he leaned closer to her. "You are what remains of them, the people you love so much and I'm sure they love you with the same immensity and they wouldn't want you blaming yourself. They wouldn't want you forgetting everything that made you into the person they love and they'd want you to enjoy this life you've been blessed with."
"Is this life a blessing?" She asked genuinely.
He let out an audible breath setting his other hand to her face, the moisture from her tears against his skin. "That's for you to decide. Life is what you make it and grief is a journey."
A slow smile grew on her face, "Did you read that on Pinterest?"
"As a matter of fact...I did." He smiled intoxicating her to let out a chuckle from his confession. "There it is....that smile. It's a beautiful smile on a gorgeous woman and though I love to see it I never want you to be ashamed to cry around me."
She peeled his hand off her face and leaned closer to him, "You know what I want...right now?"
"What?"
"A..." She draped her arm over his shoulder, her voice going lower not needing the volume with how close her mouth was to him. "...kiss to make it better."
He drew in an inhalation. She waited on his words but they didn't come. He rested his fingertips under her chin not needing strength to urge her to come near. She went willingly. The peppermint of his breath sent a refreshing thrill through her mouth as his lips found a home against hers. His tongue dipped into her mouth with a promise of what was to come in the hours after the festivities of the day were over.
She moaned and kissed him back more passionately wanting to feel more of him, needing more of him. His hand went to her waist as hers went to the back of his head, stroking the tapered curls that blanketed there. They were lost in the moment forgetting the pilot wielding the plane soaring miles above land, she was flying high in the taste of him. She was sad no more he was succeeding at his task and woke up another emotion begging to be fed.
What's the other emotion of Amila's that is begging to be fed?
How do you think their conversation is going to affect their agreement and sexual arrangement? Are they getting too close emotionally?
Is Dominic right, that she's what remains of her family and shouldn't forget what makes her, her, and live without regrets?
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