“Seriously?”
“Yup.”
“I wouldn’t have guessed.”
“About her, or about me?”
That gets a quiet laugh.
“About either of you,” he says, and I think his arm might move a little more solidly against my side, and I can feel his heartbeat on my skin like I’m wearing it. “Used to. Do you still?”
“Nah,” I say, tracing a finger through the condensation on the outside of the glass. “I have some friends from up north who still do it, and I try to get on Skype with them every so often but it’s hard to schedule, you know?”
Silas nods. He shifts slightly and then I’m leaning into him a little more, the outside of my knee pressing against the outside of his. Arm notched in my waist. I’ve had one drink and I feel like I’m made of night air and fireworks.
This afternoon after the pool we took the nature walk along the river, and we held hands without even talking about it. It ended at an overlook by a waterfall, and when we stood at the railing he put his chin on my shoulder and his arm around my waist, and the mist floated onto all the parts of me that weren’t touching him, and despite everything I was too nervous to say kiss me.
I’m still too nervous. That’s why there’s a cherry, I guess.
“You didn’t finish your drink yet,” he points out.
I roll my eyes and take the last swallow of rum-flavored melted ice, condensation dripping on the front of my dress as I do.
“There,” I say.
“You’re not gonna eat the cherry?”
“I’m saving it.”
One eyebrow lifts.
“For what?”
For you to steal it.
“The right time,” I say aloud, and Silas nods. He looks away for a moment, surveying the pool below us before he looks back at me.
“How about now?”
“Not yet.”
He glances away again, a smile tugging at his mouth.
“How about… now?”
“How long are you gonna do this for?” I ask, fighting back my own smile.
“Until you eat it. How about now?”
I give Silas a long, dramatic sigh, then reach into my glass. I pull the cherry out by the stem, tap it gently on the inside of the glass. My heart thumps wildly, and before I can stop myself I hold it out to Silas.
And he smiles but God, the way his eyes darken. He shifts against the railing and then slides his hand across my stomach until he fits it over my hip, the heat of him soaking through the fabric. I can’t breathe. I have never breathed.
“This a trick?” he asks, voice soft and low.
“Just a cherry,” I answer, not much above a whisper.
With that he grabs it in his teeth and I hold onto the stem until it pops off. We don’t break eye contact until he chews and swallows.