I start to laugh as I gently rest my head onto his arm. And when I’m settled in, he pulls me closer to him and kisses my forehead. And immediately, my laughter fades.
“Did you…,” I start and then stop. “Did you just… kiss me?”
There’s a moment where I swear there’s not a single emotion written on his face. Then gradually, his lips start to turn up.
“No,” he whispers.
I cock my head to the side. “I think you did.”
“No,” he says again, shaking his head.
By now, I’m completely and utterly mesmerized by the sea in his eyes and the all-consuming thought of his lips on mine.
“This is a kiss, Miss Cross,” he says, cradling the back of my head in his hand and pulling me closer to his lips.
I search his hooded eyes searching mine until his eyelids close and I can’t see the sea anymore. I don’t move. I just close my eyes and pray for his lips to touch mine. It seems like an eternity waiting, but then I feel him, and I instantly melt. I melt into his soft, tender lips. I melt into the way he tastes, and in this moment, I’m completely his. I move my lips over his, and I feel his hand move across my jaw. He pulls me closer to him, and I let him. I let him control me, and the way he does it is so gentle and strong and sexy and perfect, and yet, I feel a rebellious tear pressing against my eyelid, threatening to escape.
Our lips eventually break, even though I’m not sure I want them to yet. He pulls my body into his and wraps his strong arms around me. I feel his hard muscles press against my soft skin. My heart dances in my chest, and a wide smile scurries to my happy lips, but soon, I’m reminded of the tear in my eye. I’m not sure why it’s there. Maybe it’s because I’m so happy or maybe it’s because I’m a little sad. I push it back, back as far as I can, though, and bury it in the deepest part of my mind. I’m happy tonight.
And suddenly, I sense his lips near my ear, and then, I feel his breaths touch my skin. It gives me goose bumps and sends excited chills down my spine.
“I’m so happy you’re here, Ada.” His voice is a whisper, and the way he says my name makes it sound as if it’s the prettiest name in all the world.
I take a second and let his seductive, soft words soak into my pores.
“I’m happy I’m here too,” I whisper in my next breath.
It’s quiet then, to where all you can here are some tree frogs singing and a couple crickets chirping in the background.
“You know,” he says, softly, breaking the silence, “my mom and dad met here almost thirty years ago.”
“Really?” I ask, snuggling closer to him.
“Yeah, my dad said he took one look at my mom and knew he was gonna spend the rest of his life with her.”
He stops, and I can hear him smile before he continues. “The story goes she was eatin’ a funnel cake with her friends, and my dad marched right up to her and told her he was going to marry her.”
He pauses. “This is the part in the story where my mom takes over. She says the only thing my dad left with that night was the powdered sugar from her funnel cake all over his shirt.”
He squeezes me closer to him. “My dad, however, will tell you a different story.”
I run my finger gently over his chest, making little swirls on his tee shirt. “What does he say?” I ask.
His chest rises slowly and then falls. “He’ll tell you he left that night with my mom’s heart.”
I smile at his words. “Well, what do you think?”
A low, soft chuckle fills the air before he speaks. “Don’t ever tell my mom, but I think my dad’s got the right story.”
My finger stops grazing his chest. “That’s really sweet, Jorgen.”
“Yeah, well, I told you he was a sentimental old fart.”
I laugh softly into his muscles. Something tells me the apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree.
I feel Jorgen’s arms wrap tighter around my body then, and he holds me for several perfect moments, until he starts to pull away and then stops.
“What’s that?”
I follow his stare to the top of my hip, and then I see it, staring back at me. A wave of air tunnels through my lungs and then pushes forcefully past my lips. I can’t help but think if it were just a little darker, he might not have ever noticed it.
“Another stupid idea,” I mumble.
“You have a tattoo?”
He finds my eyes and just flashes me a curious, mischievous smile. “Just an A?” he asks.
I glance at the small tattoo. It is just an A—in black ink. No hearts. No frilly flowers. Just the letter A.
“I was just a kid,” I say.
“For Ada?” he asks.
I shake my head, and he cocks his to the side.
“Ant…eater?” he asks again before I can stop him.
“No,” I say, starting to laugh.
“Aardvark?”
I shake my head. “No.”
“Antelope?”
I can’t stop giggling as I bury my head into his hard chest. “No,” I say.
His finger regains my attention when I feel its tip lightly tracing the A, and soon, my laughter fades. I love that little A, but sometimes I wish it weren’t there. I wish it weren’t there to remind me — to make me sad. Without warning, I feel a sigh fall from my lips.
“It used to mean something,” I say. “But now it just stands for always, as in permanent — something I can never wash away.”
He follows a trail with his fingertips from the tattoo to my waist to the side of my ribs, then to my shoulders and finally to my lips.
“I like it,” he says, simply. “It’s part of you.”
I try to smile. He’s right, but what he doesn’t know is that even without the tattoo, the A is still part of me.
“It’s part of you, and that’s why I love it,” he whispers.
He stops in my eyes and just stays there for a while, as if he’s reading my soul.
“I’m glad I found you, Ada,” he says, placing gentle kisses on my lips and forehead, making me feel as if, somehow, I belong here — to this moment, to this new life, to him.
I close my eyes, and I push everything back. I push it all back as I nestle my cheek against his chest and concentrate on his fingertips roaming up and down my arm. He’s tracing little circles on my skin, and it’s making me feel as if I could just melt into him — as if at any moment, I could just awake from this beautiful dream and not be able to tell anymore where he ends and I begin.
Chapter Twenty-One
The Tattoo
I don’t know how long we’ve been lying in the grass when I feel a cool breeze brush over my skin. I reach down and tug at my tank top, and my finger brushes the part of my hip where I know the A eternally rests. I stop, and then I feel Jorgen’s arm pulling me closer into him. I let him pull me, and then I rest my head on his chest again. His body is warm. It’s a sharp contrast to the cool night air that has settled in. I snuggle up to him and then close my eyes. But on the back of my eyelids is the letter A, and before I can stop my mind from wandering, it goes back four long years and stops in a tire swing under a sleepy, old oak…
“Andrew, let’s get tattoos.”
Andrew stops the tire with both hands, forcing my chest to collide softly against the thick, braided rope from which it dangles.
“That’s crazy,” he says, staring straight into my eyes.
I feel my smile starting to fade.
“And you know I love crazy,” he adds. He flashes me a wild grin, then starts to push the tire again. “When do we go?”