I had almost worn sandals. I had a pair that matched my outfit, but I knew Michael was concerned with me getting burned, so I put on a pair of white tennis shoes instead. I stood in my parents' living room with Michael, feeling thankful that I had made that choice because my toes were completely curled up, leaving the tips of these tennis shoes completely vacant. I was happy he couldn't see the indication of my nerves, and I just stayed still, trying to remember to breathe.
He had just mentioned that we should be smart when it came to my dad, and for some unfathomable reason, I asked him if that meant he wasn't going to kiss me.
He assured me this wasn't the case, but he didn't do what I thought he would do, which was kiss me right then. I stared long and hard at Michael while we were standing in my living room, and he didn't kiss me. I looked at his mouth, tracing the curves of it and thinking maybe I should take matters into my own hands—and he looked at mine like he really did want to do it, but he didn't. Maybe he thought the minute he did my family would walk through the door.
"Where are you taking me?" he asked.
"You're taking me," I said.
I ran into the kitchen. There was a pencil and pad near the telephone, and I wrote the words, "Will be back around dark," and sighed it with a heart and my name. I left it on the counter in a place my parents wouldn't miss before crossing to the living room again.
Michael was standing with his hands in his pockets waiting for me, and instead of crossing to him, I just went for the door and motioned for him to follow me.
I told him I wanted to take this one specific highway out of town and that I would give him further directions once we were on the road. Michael folded the quilt tightly and stashed it in a small, leather pouch that was attached to the side of his motorcycle.
I straddled the motorcycle with slightly more elegance now that I wasn't wearing a dress. I had just ridden it a few minutes before, but the unsteadiness of being balanced on two wheels still came as a surprise. I squeezed tightly and buried my face in his back for the first couple of minutes before I felt steady enough to straighten up and check out our surroundings.
I looked up to find that we were at a traffic light in a busy neighborhood, and there were several people visible either in cars or out on the sidewalk. I made eye contact with a young girl in the car that was next to us. She waved, and I wanted to wave back to her, but I was too afraid to take my arms from around Michael, so I just smiled really big and gave her a long blink like you'd do to a baby. It was a silly gesture to make at a twelve-year-old, but I wanted to assure her that I got her wave and returned it.
Michael's hand came over my arms, giving me a squeeze as if to make sure that they were firmly in place before he took off. I smiled again at the girl as we drove away, and she smiled back at me.
I took Michael to a waterfall.
It wasn't the most impressive waterfall I'd ever seen, but it was close to town, and it was on private property, so there was never anyone else there.
I led Michael to the trailhead, and we hiked about a third of a mile from the road to the small clearing in the woods. It was a warm day, but we were so surrounded by forest that the area near the waterfall felt cool.
I found a dry, grassy area nearby where there was a gap in the trees and some filtered sunlight, and with one quick motion, I spread out the quilt and then sat right in the middle of it. Somehow, I managed to also kick off my shoes as I was in motion, and within seconds, I was completely settled and comfortable in the middle of the quilt.
I stared up at Michael with a smile, and he shook his head as he smiled at me. I let out a little laugh at the sight of him, and the way it made my stomach flip. He held his palms up and looked around, checking out our surroundings. "What is this place?" he asked.
"One of the deacons at my dad's church owns all this land, and he said he doesn't mind if we come out here. He's got a big swimming hole, too. Jacob and his friends like to go over there. More people know about that place, so it's busier. There's hardly ever anyone out here at the waterfall."
Michael kicked off his shoes at the edge of the blanket, stooping to his knees and crawling toward me. He swiveled and sat down, positioning himself right next to me—so close that our sides were touching. The small waterfall was roughly twenty feet from us, and we stared at it, listening to the sounds of rushing water. We sat there for a full minute.
"It's heaven out here," Michael said dazedly. "If I had this thing on my property, I'd build my house right over it."
I looked at the side of his face when he said that, and he smiled.
"I'd have waterfall floors," he said.
"Would the waterfall still work if you built a house over it?" I asked sincerely. I studied the ground around the waterfall, trying to consider the logistics of it. "Is it possible?" I asked, now feeling genuinely curious. "Would a waterfall still work if someone built a house over it? You know, if you built it just right. Could you do that?"
I looked at Michael who grinned and shrugged. "You really would have to build the house just right. And you would have to not care that you were kind of living outside. You'd basically be letting critters into your house on a continual basis."
"I don't care for critters in my house," I said.
He continued to smile. "You probably aren't a good candidate for a waterfall house."
"Are you having a waterfall house?" I asked.
He shook his head with a serious expression. "I don't have any land with a waterfall on it."
"Me neither," I said.
"You have some you can borrow, though," he said referring to the fact that we were currently enjoying the benefits of having such land.
He stretched out, crossing his legs and resting his head on his folded arms. I stretched out next to him, letting the sides of our bodies barely brush as I got settled into place. We stared upward at the canopy of trees, watching them sway in the wind.
Michael asked me about my brother, and this led to me telling him the whole history of my family—the way my mom died when I was a toddler, and my step-mom had raised me ever since. He asked me questions, and the answers I gave him were the whole truth and nothing but the truth.
He told me the truth about things, too. He told me about his childhood. He had grown up in Detroit in a less-than-picturesque family situation where both of his parents drank heavily. He was often unsupervised, and would sneak into businesses just to see what they were doing. This meandering was where he discovered his love for designing transportation.
He had fallen in with the right people at the right time, and ended up in a mentoring situation with an older man that worked for Cadillac. One thing led to another, and the next thing he knew, he was hired as a designer for Chevy. He worked there for three years before deciding to quit so he could focus on building motorcycles.
He had a small shop in Detroit and had just started to make a name for himself when Mr. Morrow passed away, leaving the garage to him. It was in a older neighborhood in Memphis, and he knew his neighbors wouldn't be excited about having a motorcycle shop there, but he wasn't about to turn down the gift. He might have just sold it out right so that he didn't have to deal with the disgruntled neighbors, but the truth of it was the body shop was too perfect. Mr. Morrow had been somewhat of a collector, and most of the items could be repurposed for Michael's business.
He said he came down to Memphis to look at the place, feeling like he would probably just put it up for sale and be thankful for the money, but he took one look at it and knew he had to move in. The gift of a fully operational garage complete with an apartment was too great to pass up.
We stayed on that blanket, conversing without even moving or picking up our heads, we just lay there, stretched out, looking at the trees and listening to the waterfall as we got to know each other.
We had been there for a couple of hours when, in a moment of companionable silence, I scooted closer to him. We had learned a lot about each other during the conversation, and I felt like I wanted to be closer to him—like our cautious proximity was no longer necessary since we had shared so much.
I scooted toward him, lifting my head and moving his arm so I could use his chest for a pillow. He easily took me into his arms, shifting so that I would be comfortable. I cozied up next to him, resting the side of my face on his chest near the crook of his arm. I reached across him, taking his hand into mine with a feather-light touch that caused literal jolts of electricity to move through my fingers.
"Will you sing for me?" he asked.
"When?"
"Now."
"I don't have a piano."
"You don't?" he asked. He strained a little in a fake attempt to lift his head as if looking around for one. "I guess you will have to sing without one," he said, relaxing again.
I smiled against his chest. I wanted to have the confidence to burst out in song with no hesitation. I wanted to know exactly what to sing and how to sing it so I could make Michael Bishop mine.
I adjusted in his grasp so that I could breathe a little better, and I took a few measured breaths while I thought of what I could possibly sing. I went for a jazz song called Summertime because it was slow and it seemed to fit what we were doing. I sang it softly in my falsetto voice but using my more soulful style.
Michael stayed quiet and still the whole time I sang. His hand was lightly touching my arm, and I could feel the slight movements as he let it brush against me, but otherwise he was motionless. It was after I sang the last note that I felt Michael's chest rise and fall has he let out a long sigh.
I sat up, propping on my elbow and shifting so I could stare down at him. "What?" I said, referring to his sigh.
"You." he shook his head and rubbed his own face, wearing a serious expression. I was only a few inches from his perfect face, and there was nothing I could do to stop my giddy smile at how much I affected him.
"I can't believe you can sing like that," he said. "You almost made me cry just now, and I don't even do that. You almost made tears happen in my eyes."
I grinned at him again. "Almost doesn't count," I said, noticing only dryness around his eyes. "How do you even almost cry, anyway?"
"My eyes, they got stingy there for a second when you were singing," he said.
I laughed. "Stingy?"
He nodded, and I situated myself, leaning over to position my face even closer to his. We were now only inches apart.
"Michael," I whispered.
"Ivy."
"You said you were gonna kiss me," I said breathlessly. I didn't mean to be forward, but I was so swept away that I couldn't help it.
"Ivy," he said.
"What?"
"I've never, in my whole life, wanted to kiss someone as much as I want to kiss you right now."
My heart was beating a thousand miles an hour. Another little grin forced my mouth upward, and I bit my lip. "Why aren't you doing it?" I asked.
"I'm laying here wondering the same thing," Michael said. "Why can't I just lean forward and kiss you?"
I stared directly at his mouth, which was only a few inches from mine. "Why can't you?" I whispered.
Michael inspected my face thoughtfully. "Because it doesn't seem like enough," he said. "I really want to do it, but with you being Ivy and everything, I wish I could think of a better gesture."
"So, you don't want to kiss me?" I whispered. I stuck out my bottom lip just a little, teasing him and causing him to rub his face like he was trying to maintain his composure.
"No, I do. I really do."
He still had his hand over his eyes when I let my lips fall onto his. I did it swiftly, but then I froze in place, letting my mouth rest on his. I took him by surprise because I heard him take a breath as he pulled his hand away from his eyes. Michael's eyes popped open, and there I was, right in front of him with my lips still on his. I shamelessly remained there even though he hadn't been expecting me to do it.
Michael remained a bit stiff for a second before he reached up and put his hands on each side of my face. His big hands enveloped my face so completely that I grinned at the relief of feeling him hold me. He leaned forward, and kissed my lips while I was still smiling.
"That's better," I whispered just before he kissed me again. I had so much built-up anticipation when it came to kissing him, just barely touching his lips made my blood warm. He kept a hold on the sides of my face as he continued. I let him control our movements, and he proceeded to somehow make a kiss more than just a kiss. Michael Bishop told a story with that kiss. He was gentle and thoughtful, and he kissed me softly, and deeply, and then softly again. He smiled in between kisses and whispered things to me that I'll never forget.
That moment in time was so perfect and passionate that I wanted more than anything to tell him I loved him. I got on the very edge of doing it a few times, and each time I would get nervous and know that it was too early and talk myself out of it.
We kissed, and whispered, and teased, and talked, and laughed for what must have been another hour before deciding to fold up the quilt and ride back to town.