Paper cup of the best coffee I’ve ever had in one hand, Bronn and I walk side-by-side back to my house, my other hand nestled in his. The simple act is something I’d taken for granted until Bronn had begun to hold mine on our first date. Now, I couldn’t get enough of his fingers laced through mine. Or the feeling that washed through my body every time he was the one to reach for me.
It’s only a little after nine a.m., but the humidity and heat is already bordering on unbearable, the sun having fully risen during our impromptu fossil-finding expedition.
Our pace is about that of a turtle stuck in mud, but I keep my comments to myself, the pain of our run written all over his face.
It was obvious that he wasn’t a runner, despite his insistence otherwise, but I’d enjoyed his company so I didn’t say anything. The way he is limping down the street though is causing me to feel bad about not calling him out on it before we started. Or taking it a little easier during the actual run.
Bronn slows even further, coming to a stop beside his truck and pulling the driver’s side door open. He hands me his coffee and gingerly climbs into the cab, groaning with effort.
I press my lips together to keep from laughing, and he catches me, his eyes narrowing.
“Ha, ha. I know, I know. It’s my own damn fault,” he laments, wincing again as he settles into the seat. “Listen, I gotta get home and take a bottle of aspirin.”
“You need to take an Epsom salt bath,” I offer. “And maybe try ibuprofen instead of aspirin.”
He shakes his head. “No tub. And what I need is a damn bottle of muscle relaxers. And a time machine.”
I arch an eyebrow and hand him his cup, propping my hip against the open door. “Are you really that much of a wimp? That route was like two miles, that’s nothing.”
His eyes practically bug out of his head, and I laugh as he moans. “You were running at full speed.”
I rake my hand over my face, attempting to conceal the smile, but I’m not fast enough.
“You knew I wasn’t a runner.” His voice is laced with disbelief. “You did that on purpose!”
I lift a shoulder. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He shakes his head, putting his coffee in the cup holder. I watch his slow movement, wondering if our workout somehow hurt his arms, too, when a bag catches my eye.
I lean across him, aware of the fact that my breasts are brushing against his lap, and grab the plastic baggie.
“Hey, hey!” he shouts, his own hand trying to reach the bag before I do.
“Are these…” I trail off, studying the bag of sharks’ teeth in my hand. My stomach falls, humiliation washing over me. I take several deep breaths before lifting my eyes to his.
His face is guilty, a sheepish smile on his lips.
I squeeze my eyes shut. “Did you plant those sharks’ teeth at the beach?” My voice is shaky.
He crosses his arms over his chest, using my words against me. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do!” I say, my voice nearly a squeal. I wave the bag in his face. “You put those teeth there!”
My stomach feels hollow. I’m angry. And humiliated. I’d been convinced that I was finding all of these teeth, but instead I’d just been making a fool of myself.
He relents, uncrossing his arms and taking the bag from my hand and tossing it on the seat beside him. Sliding his hand in mine he sighs. “Fine. Yes, I did.”
Taking a deep breath, I ask through clenched teeth, “Why?”
His eyes cut away and he stares out the cracked windshield of his truck. “I dunno.” Blowing out a breath, he explains, “I guess I just wanted you to finally find a shark’s tooth. And it wasn’t going to be the same with me as it would have been with your dad, but at least you could say you did it.” He looks back at me, the honesty on his face taking my breath away. “And I wanted to be with you when you did.”
His eyes are intense, his voice low, when he asks, “You mad?”
Yes!
Or at least I was.
I feel like an idiot, getting so excited over finding planted sharks’ teeth. I’m sure I looked ridiculous crawling around in the sand, looking for something that he knew was there.
But, how the hell could I be mad at him for doing something that he knew would make me happy? He’d remembered the random memory I’d shared with him, seen what it meant to me, understood the importance of it, and tried his damndest to fulfill it.
My chest swells, my throat thick with emotion, and when I open my mouth to speak no sound comes out. So, I shake my head.
Bronn breathes an audible sigh of relief and whispers, “Good.”
I bring his hand to mine, kissing his fingers one by one, my eyes never leaving his. When I finish, I lean forward and brush my lips against his.
He curls a hand into my hair, holding my head still as his mouth devours mine, the taste of coffee on his lips. The kiss is slow, his tongue in no hurry, knowing that I’m not going anywhere. I press my body into his, wanting to be as close to him as possible as his mouth continues to explore mine.
I want this to last forever, the feeling of his soft mouth contrasting with his hard body pressed against mine, but all too soon he pulls away.
Panting, I rest my forehead against his and softly tell him, “Sorry I pushed you so hard earlier.”
He chuckles. “It’s not your fault. I shouldn’t have pretended to know what the fuck I was doing.”
“True,” I agree.
I don’t tell him that I’m only pretending to know what the hell I’m doing, too.