Maybe Now (Maybe 2)

Ridge: You and Maggie had a conversation and you didn’t tell me?

I watch her reaction as she reads the text. She freezes, staring down at the phone, and then she rubs her forehead. She leans against the library shelf and inhales a deep breath.

Sydney: Yes. I should have told you. I just wanted the two of you to have the chance to speak before I brought it up, but I drove to her house on Sunday. Not to start drama, I swear. I just had some things I needed to say to her. I’m sorry, Ridge.

I look back up at her, and everything about her is on edge now. She’s worried, rubbing the back of her neck now, refusing to pull her eyes away from her phone until I text her back.

I hold up my phone and snap a picture of her, then text it to her. It takes a moment for the picture to come through on her end, but as soon as it does, she spins around. Our eyes lock.

I shake my head, just barely, but not because I’m upset with her in any way, shape, or form. I shake my head in slight disbelief that this woman would take it upon herself to drive to my ex-girlfriend’s house because she wanted to make things better between us.

I have never felt this amount of appreciation for anyone or anything in my entire life.

I begin to walk toward her. She pushes off the bookshelf when I get closer and she stands, stiff, anticipating my next move. When I reach her, I don’t say or sign a single word. I don’t have to. She knows exactly what I’m thinking, because with Sydney, all she has to do is be near me for us to communicate. She looks up at me and I look down at her, and as if we’re in perfect sync, she takes two steps back and I take two steps forward, so that we’re hidden between two walls of books.

I love you.

I don’t say or sign those words. I only feel them, but she hears it.

I lift my hands and run the backs of my fingers down her cheeks. I try to touch her with the same softness that she uses to touch me. I run my thumbs over her lips, admiring her mouth and every gentle word that comes out of it. I slide my hands down to her neck and press my thumbs against her throat. I can feel her rapid pulse beneath my fingertips.

I lower my forehead to hers, and I close my eyes. I just want to feel her heartbeat against my thumbs. I want to feel her breath against my lips. I take a moment and do these things while I silently thank her, our foreheads still pressed together.

I wish we weren’t in public right now. I would thank her in so many more ways, and without using a single word.

I keep my hands on her throat and press myself against her to turn and position her against the bookshelves behind her. When her back meets the books, I keep her face tilted up toward mine, while drawing our mouths closer together, barely connecting mine to hers. I can feel her rapid breaths crashing against my lips, so I hold still and swallow a few of them before I slip my tongue inside her mouth and coax even more of those rapid breaths out of her. Her mouth is warmer and more inviting than it’s ever been.

She brings her hands to my chest, slapping the paper and the marker against my shirt while she steadies herself. The paper falls to the floor. She tilts her head up to mine even more and opens her mouth a little wider, wanting more of our kiss. I curve my right hand around the back of her head as I close my mouth over hers and inhale.

I kiss her. I love her.

I love her. I kiss her.

I kiss her.

I am so very in love with her.

It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do when I pull away from her mouth. Her hands are clenched in fists around my shirt. Her eyes are still closed when I pull back, so I stare down at her for a moment, convinced that Karma might actually know what she’s doing after all. Maybe there was a reason so many shitty things had to happen in my life. It wouldn’t have been a balanced life if I’d had a beautiful childhood, only to grow up and share a life like the one I know I’m going to share with Sydney. I think my childhood was the balance I needed so that I could have her. She is so good and so perfect, maybe I was made to suffer first before earning a reward of this magnitude.

I slide my hands to hers, which are still clenching my shirt. The paper she was holding has long since fallen to the floor, but the marker is still in her fist. I pry it from her fingers and she opens her eyes, just as I slip my fingers beneath the collar of her shirt. I pull it down, exposing the skin over her heart. I pull the cap off the marker with my teeth and then press the marker to her chest. I write four letters directly over her heart.

MINE

I put the cap back on the marker, and then I kiss her one last time before I turn and walk away.

It’s the most we’ve ever communicated and the least we’ve ever said.

I’m sitting in the passenger seat of Ridge’s car, staring out the window. My right hand is touching my chest, lightly fingering the word he wrote over my heart Tuesday night. Mine. It’s faded now because it’s been four days since he wrote it, but luckily it was a permanent marker, and I’ve avoided scrubbing it off in the shower.

When he left the library Tuesday night, I immediately had to sit down. He had left me so breathless, I almost felt faint. He wasn’t even there five minutes, and it was the most intense five minutes of my life. So much so, I convinced my coworker to stay for the rest of my shift, and then I drove straight to Ridge’s apartment to finish what he started. Those five intense minutes in the library became two intense hours in his bed.

Since then, we’ve spent three of the last four nights together.

He told me all about his conversation with Maggie. I hate that her grandfather passed away just hours after I left her apartment on Sunday. But knowing she was dealing with all of that, yet still made the time to stop by Ridge’s and apologize to him, made me appreciate her effort even more. And it really did make a huge difference in Ridge. It’s like a heavy weight was lifted after their talk on Tuesday. The last four days with him have been the best four days I’ve spent with him since the day we met.

In the beginning of getting to know him, every conversation we had was encased by guilt because of Maggie. Then, after his and Maggie’s fight last week, every conversation we had was laced with worry because of Maggie. But since Tuesday, every time we’re alone, it finally feels like we’re actually alone. Somehow, merging Maggie more into our lives seems to have removed her even more from our relationship. It shouldn’t make sense, but it does. Putting more focus on their friendship than on the fact that she’s his ex-girlfriend will be better for our relationship in the long run.

Hopefully, Bridgette will be able to realize that soon. Because right now, she’s not happy. Warren and Bridgette are in the back seat. Ridge is driving. Bridgette hasn’t said a single word on the way to Maggie’s house, because she and Warren got into a fight right before we left. She demanded she come with him, but he told her he didn’t want her there because she doesn’t know how to be nice to Maggie. That pissed her off. They went to their room and fought while Ridge and I sat on the couch and waited.

Actually, we sat on the couch and made out, so we didn’t really care how long their fight lasted. But it still hasn’t ended because we’re pulling into Maggie’s driveway, and the only words Bridgette has spoken between Austin and this driveway are, “I have to pee.” She says it as she gets out of the car and slams her door.

Bridgette isn’t the most reasonable person. But I’m growing to really like her and even understand her. She wears her emotions on her sleeve. But she has a lot of emotions, so it’s more like she wears her emotions on several long-sleeved shirts, layered on top of each other.

No one has to knock on the door, because Maggie opens it as we’re walking up the driveway. Warren walks in first and gives her a hug. Bridgette passes right by her, but Ridge gives her a quick hug. I do, too, simply because I’d rather start this off with a good sentiment.

“Smells good,” Ridge signs as he tosses his keys on the counter.

“Lasagna,” Maggie says. “I’m reading this book where the characters make lasagna anytime they need to talk th

rough something. Thought it was fitting for tonight.” Maggie looks at me as she walks into her kitchen. “Do you like to read, Sydney?”

“Love to read,” I say, taking off my cardigan. I set it over the back of one of the chairs. “I just don’t have a lot of time. Which is sad, considering I work in a library.”

Bridgette walks to the bathroom, and Warren tosses himself dramatically on the couch, face down into a throw pillow. “Kill me now,” he mutters.

“Trouble in paradise?” Maggie says.

Warren lifts his head and looks at her. “Paradise? When have Bridgette and I ever lived in paradise?”

“Trouble in Sheol?” Maggie corrects.

Warren sits up on the couch. “I don’t even know what that means.”

“It’s another word for Hell.”

“Oh,” Warren says. “You know not to use big words around me.”

“It’s only five letters long.”

I’m watching them converse, my attention going back and forth between them. I finally focus on Ridge, who is standing in front of me now. “You thirsty?” he asks.

I nod. He walks to the kitchen and opens a cabinet, then begins making us both something to drink. It’s odd, watching him move his way around the kitchen like it’s his kitchen. It makes me realize that in a way, it used to be. There’s no telling how much time he spent here at her house. I guess this is one of those fairly awkward moments I’m going to have to get used to. Ridge brings me a glass of water, and then he takes a seat on the couch next to Warren.