Come Alive (The Cityscape 2)

He cleared his throat. “A lot. But not impossible. It helps that they’re willing to work with us on the sale price. David says he works by you and can drop you after.”

“What if he has plans or something?”

“Liv, I can’t,” he said, disappearing back into the hall. “Gotta go.”

I twisted my hands nervously. Footsteps ascended, and David’s voice resounded throughout the second floor. The voices drifted to the master bedroom and then back down the hall. I was still stuck to the same spot in one of the spare rooms when they entered.

“David, I’m so sorry,” I blurted. “You’re already doing us this big favor, and now you have to give me a ride.”

“It’s no problem. I insisted,” he said before turning back to the appraiser, who was making notes.

He looked up and waved his clipboard at me. “Well Mrs. Wilson, would you like to have a seat and go over this?”

“Um, I’m not really – can you just talk to my husband?”

“Already did, there are just a few more things I’d like to cover, but I’ll e-mail him.”

“Can you CC me?” David asked, handing him a card. “Since I promised to help.”

“Sure. I’ll be in touch.” He looked between the two of us before turning away.

I crossed my arms over my breasts, and David stuck his hands in his pockets. “The issues aren’t just surface deep, but it’s not the worst I’ve seen. The owners are giving you an extremely fair price. It’s a steal. Honestly, they probably don’t realize the value.” He paused and cleared his throat. “But most importantly, it’s obvious that you love it.”

“I do. I think I really do.”

“Follow me.”

My heels clunked on the wooden steps as we descended. Back on the ground floor, he removed his jacket and set it on the covered couch. He rolled up his sleeves and crouched down to pull on a floorboard. My eyes followed as he walked over to a doorway and inspected it. He was talking as he moved, but I only heard the bass of his voice, felt the vibration of it inside me.

I realized in that moment that I never should have gone to the house. That I would never be able to erase the image of him there.

The home that I couldn’t grasp before began to form in my mind. The room was sylvan, rustic, and smelled of cedar like David. It glowed with a blazing fire on a cool autumn evening. Abundant, leafy maple trees just out back rainbowed from green to yellow to red. David was there, lifting me off my feet in a consuming hug after walking through the front door.

I squeezed my eyes shut and pressed the heels of my hands into my sockets. Pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place. Bill and I had seen almost ten places since we’d started looking and not one had been right. I pictured Bill at the apartment on our rundown couch, yelling at the TV. I pictured him in the late morning, goofing off as he fixed me breakfast. I’d never felt at home in the apartment, because I knew we’d eventually move somewhere permanent.

Davena’s words from our last moments together floated back to me. ‘It’s about whom you’re making a home with.’

It wasn’t that the places we’d seen hadn’t felt like home. It was that Bill didn’t feel like home.

“Come here,” David said, ripping me from my heartbreaking realization. I obeyed with my eyes glued to him. “You could put built-in seating there under that window and a breakfast nook on the other side. And look.” He pointed into the next room and said something. I leaned over to peer through the doorway, but I had no idea what I was looking for because my mind was whirring. Bill was so far, and David was so close. So close that if I just angled slightly, I would whiff that earthy, subtle David-ness . . . .

“Did you just smell me?”

“What?” I blinked and shook my head. “No.”

“Yes, you did,” he said, a smile creeping onto his face.

I rolled my eyes. “I did not. I was just trying to get a better look.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“Well I’m very close to you and – okay, you do smell nice, so it is possible that I sniffed you, I just . . .”

The look on his face stopped me. “You never answered my question.”

“I just admitted – ”

“Not that one.” He paused. “Are you depressed, Olivia?”

I blinked in shock as I sought a response.

“Just answer, don’t – ”

“Do you ever think about that night?” The words tumbled out of my mouth before I knew what I was saying.

“Do you?” he asked.

“No. I don’t let myself.”

“Because of what you did?”

“No.” I glanced down, ashamed.

“Do you regret it?”

“I hate myself for what I’ve done,” I said slowly. “I think about how it would hurt Bill if he found out. It would wreck him. The guilt is almost unbearable.” His expression turned something tortured. He looked at the floor. “But . . .”

He blinked up at me again, pinning me with intense eyes.

“But what I hate more,” I continued, “is that I don’t regret it. I don’t think about that night because I’m terrified that nothing will ever come close to it again.”

He inhaled sharply and locked his arms across his torso.

“That sounds crazy,” I said, shaking my head and looking away. “I guess for you it was just – ”

“I think about that night all the time.”

My gaze jumped back to his. We stared at each other, the space between us vibrating. My hands began to tremble with the agony of months of wanting to touch him. Slowly, he unfolded his arms. His hands hovered in the air awkwardly before scooping under my hair to grasp my face. He ran his thumbs over my jawline, and when I didn’t move away, he leaned in and pressed his lips to mine. We sat that way for a long time, both breathing heavily until he puckered his lips gently.

When he pulled back, he rested his forehead on mine. “I’ve been dreaming about that for fifteen weeks,” he said quietly.

I laughed in a gust of breath. I felt his cheeks with my hands, relishing the rough, bristly spots. I ran my fingers through his obsidian hair, which felt even silkier than I remembered. He groaned softly. I traced his lips reverently with my fingertip. “Why can’t I forget you?” I whispered.

He leaned in and pecked me on the lips twice before nuzzling his nose into my neck. “The way you smell,” he said into my hair. “It’s irreplaceable.”

I hugged him, feeling the muscles of his back through his shirt. He brushed his mouth down my cheek until reaching my lips. They parted for him, and he kissed me with careful movements, allowing me to appreciate every slide of his tongue and tremor of his lips. He tasted fresh but warm; he tasted like home.

As we kissed, he molded my arms around his neck before picking me up by my waist so we were level. I felt safe and secure in his arms again, hidden from the outside world in our own private one. He untucked the back of my blouse and slid a hand underneath. It was a simple act, his hand skating over my back, but it made me dizzy with lust. Without disconnecting our mouths, he set me on my feet and unzipped my skirt so it fell to the ground.

I pulled his shirt from his pants and undid the buttons with tremulous hands. I slid it over his shoulders. His pecs were hard and coarse under my palms, and I kissed them, breathing in the fresh woodsy smell that had been muted by his shirt.

He undid my top button deftly. After each button, he glanced up and looked me squarely in the eyes. His hands glided under the fabric to hold my waist. We were looking into each other’s eyes, my body securely in his grip, as if to say ‘In this moment, you are mine.’

He pulled me to his bare torso and wrapped me in strong arms. A hand over my hair secured my cheek to his chest. Between his heartbeat and mine, I heard nothing else.

My desire grew, and my skin burned with the need to meld with him. I remembered how he had felt inside of me, driving me to the edge with exceptional focus. When I was sure I couldn’t stand another minute, he l

et go.

Confusion cut through my ethereal haze. “What are you doing?”

He stepped back suddenly and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know,” he said up to the ceiling. “I wanted this . . . .”

I stood staring at him, wavering with my skirt pooled at my feet. The blood drained from my face. “Wanted?”

“It’s so wrong. But I can’t stop thinking about you, about that night.”

“I want this,” I whispered.