His hands, large and warm on my neck, rubbed small circles likely meant to lull me and keep me from running away. Running away was the last thing on my mind. Running away was no longer an option. My breath raced in and out of me, proof of how strongly I had been affected by those few tiny seconds of his mouth on mine, and I didn’t care if he knew it.
As my breathing slowed, a little bit of panic gnawed at the back of my mind. I liked this too much. I liked him too much. It couldn’t last. It was so easy for Paul. He trusted easily, counted on things easily, and expected good things. I wasn’t accustomed to good things, and I didn’t know if trust was possible for someone like me. I swallowed down the fear. I did not look away.
Kids screamed, pulling me out of my reverie, and I looked around the tent. Big, fat raindrops had started to fall, thudding against the canvas tent. I peered out to see people scrambling for shelter, covering their heads with bags and soda cups, anything they happened to be holding.
Paul laughed as two kids ran out of our tent into the rain. “I bet that’s freezing.”
I took note of the way he let one arm linger around my shoulders.
“Surely it will pass quickly.” As soon as the words left his mouth, rain poured down with renewed vigor. The force of it swayed the tent, and he looked at me and grinned. “Or not.” He slipped his arm from my shoulder and slid it down my arm, catching my fingers in his. “Want to make a run for it?”
Still reeling from our kiss, I nodded. “What’s a little water?”
At that, he tugged my arm and pulled me after him into the rain. He was always doing that—getting worked up into a fever pitch, and pulling me along with him. I never ceased to get caught up in his enthusiasm, tangled up in his sails. He was hard to resist, and I was done resisting. Rain dropped onto my head in loud plops, cold and invigorating. I squealed in delight and picked up my pace. My right foot slammed into a puddle, sending water up my legs, drenching my jeans.
We cut through an alley to avoid the crowd and the booths that blocked our way, and the rain was a little lighter there. We didn’t stop though, and ran through the streets until we got to the truck. Paul, laughing, fumbled with the wet and slippery keys until he had my door unlocked. He swung it open and I hopped in, scooting over and unlocking his door for him. I watched as he ran around the front of the truck with his hand shielding his face.
He climbed in and shut the door, and sat staring straight ahead, as though stunned. I took the keys from his hand and started the engine, and then fussed with the heater settings. “Hey,” I said softly. “Are you okay?”
He turned his head to me. “I think so. I didn’t get my caramel apple, though.”
I laughed, nervous. I was experiencing too many sensations to process right away. He put the truck in gear, glanced at me quickly, and pulled away from the curb. We left town a different way than we had come, and I wondered where he had in mind to take me, since it wasn’t time to go home yet. I didn’t ask, preferring instead to wonder. I almost always preferred wondering to certainty. Most of the time when I was certain about something, the rug was pulled out from under me, proving that certainty didn’t exist.
We wound through back country roads, turning left here and right there, seemingly at random. Eventually, Paul turned onto a tiny road that didn’t even have a road sign. He pulled the truck to the side of the road and stopped, letting the engine idle. “I can’t take this road. It’s gravel. Malcolm said no gravel roads.”
I smiled. “Better follow the rules or he won’t let us take his truck out again.”
He looked over at me. “You’re shivering.”
In spite of the heater, I had been shaking in my seat since we got in. “You’re shivering too.”
He held out his hands to see them shake, and watched as though it surprised him. He unbuttoned his flannel shirt and yanked it off. He wore a white T-shirt underneath. He hung the flannel from the hook by his window. I copied his movements, and did the same with my sweater. The shirt I had underneath was damp, but not soaked, and I immediately felt warmer.
We listened to the rain pinging against the truck, the whir of the heater, our breath moving in and out. I unbuckled my seatbelt and turned in my seat to face him. “So.”
Paul unbuckled, too, and put the truck in park. “So.”
“I think we kissed.”
Air from the heater blasted my face. Paul studied me, a serious, heated look in his eyes. “I want to do it again.”
He didn’t move. Something broke down inside my chest as I watched him waiting on me to be the one to decide. If I said yes, he’d kiss me. If I said no, he wouldn’t.
I clenched my jaw, willing my eyes to stop stinging. I didn’t want him to know what kinds of things I’d said no to, what kinds of things had happened anyway.
My heartbeat pounded in my ears. “I do, too.” I wanted it more than I could explain with words.
He scooted closer, his eyes searching mine. He put one arm behind me on the back of the seat, and brought his other hand up to my cheek. He brushed his fingertips over my cheekbone, and down to my neck. “Are you sure?”
I closed my eyes, worried about what he would see there; worried he’d see how much this meant to me. I dangled inside of the moment, until finally, I nodded.
He brought his hand to the nape of my neck and tipped my head slightly to the side. He slowly, too slowly, brought his face closer to mine, as though giving me every last chance to tell him to stop. His nose brushed against my cheek, and then his lips whispered over mine. He held that position for a minute, just barely touching me. Finally, at last, he laid his lips on mine. Our mouths moved together, and he pressed his body closer.
Breathless, unaccustomed to the warmth and the sweetness, I opened my mouth under his, and a deep groan rumbled in his throat. His fingertips slipped just under the hem of my shirt and curled into the skin at my waist, holding me tightly to him.
The strength of this wanting terrified me. It was as emotional as it was physical. I pulled back, breath coming fast and hands shaking, as much from anxiety as from desire. “Paul.”
“Do you want to stop?” he murmured against my lips, his hands fisting in my hair.
God, I didn’t want him to stop. But if he didn’t stop, I didn’t know how to keep from falling in so deep that when he no longer wanted me, I would survive it. The fear was a cold hand wrapped tightly around my neck.
I listened to my body and tried to make my mind disappear. “No, don’t stop.” I reached up to grab his hand, and brought it down to place it on my breast. He sucked in a breath, nearly a gasp, and put his mouth against my neck, and then back to mine.
My mind fell away a little bit, and the hand of fear around my neck cutting off my breath loosened a little. It wasn’t enough. I reached down between our bodies and fumbled with the button on his jeans.
Paul stilled, held his breath. “Celia, what are you doing?”
I was trying to stop my mind from thinking. Trying to do anything I could to keep him, to make sure he wouldn’t leave. I was doing what other guys had expected of me. “I’m…I thought you’d want that.”
He exhaled loudly, and pulled his hands out of my hair and off my body. He studied me carefully, his eyes resting on mine. “Let’s slow it down a little. I just want to kiss you. We don’t have to do more than that.”
Mortification lit my cheeks ablaze and I turned toward the window. I could feel him looking at me, but I didn’t look at him.
A silent minute passed. “Celia, I just meant I don’t want you to do what you think I want. The only thing I want you to do is be yourself.”
“I am being myself, Paul. This is how I am.” I sounded mad. I didn’t feel mad, but I could hear that I sounded that way. I crossed my arms over my chest and tilted my head up and stared at the gray felt ceiling of the truck.
He slumped back in his seat, resting his hands on the steering wheel. He chewed on his bottom lip, thinking, I assumed, about how best to ditch me. I steeled myself for it. The steamy air in the truck grew heavier by the minute. The rain had slowed and was dribbling down the windows. I watched a drop make its way down the windshield, following the trail of the drops before it.
Eventually, he turned in his seat and scooted closer to me. I was startled when he reached out and pried my arms away from my body, and pulled me to him. He held me like that, until I hesitantly moved my arms around his lower back. I didn’t understand. I didn’t like not knowing what was going to happen.
After a few minutes like that, he pulled back and searched my eyes. “Hey.”
“Hey.”
“So, I was enjoying kissing you.” The corners of his lips curved up in a smile.
I averted my gaze.
He pressed his forehead to mine. “Talk to me.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?” His voice was insistent. He wasn’t going to just let this go.
“Telling you things is scary.”
“Do it anyway.” He pressed a kiss on my forehead.
A long moment passed. I tilted my head lower and pushed my face into his shirt. My lower lip trembled. “You turned me down.”
His hand landed on the back of my head and brushed down my hair. “Celia, that wasn’t me turning you down. That was me sensing something wasn’t right. It didn’t feel like you wanted that. It felt like you thought I expected it. I can tell the minute it’s not genuine. Can’t you?”
“I guess. But, I’m…”
“Tell me.”
I spoke into his shirt. “I’m scared. I don’t want to do something wrong.”
“I’m scared too. And I’m terrified of getting it wrong with you. But the only way to get it wrong is if we stop being ourselves. If we stop being real. And I like who you really are.”
My face still felt hot, and my fingertips prickled from breathing too fast. I stayed pressed into his shirt, my mind racing.
I saw myself at five years old, sitting in a mud puddle with two-year-old Abe, spreading mud all over his arms and legs, bubbling over with joy every time he laughed at the deep brown streaks. I saw myself at eight years old, baking brownies and lapping up the praise from my mother. I saw myself at ten years old, getting in trouble at school and the teacher telling me not to be so bossy during a group project. I saw myself at twelve years old, watching my father drink and drink and drink and then laugh at stupid things and then drink some more until he was yelling at stupid things. I saw myself at fourteen, trying to convince Abe not to be scared in his own bedroom and agreeing with my mom that it was up to us to make sure my dad was in a good mood. I saw myself at fifteen, letting Ronan touch me even though I didn’t really want him to, suggesting it before he could force me, so I could tell myself it was my idea. I saw myself last week, running on the back roads, my thighs strong and capable, and my mind clear and happy.
I had no idea which one of those was the real me. Maybe they all were. Maybe everyone I’d ever been lived inside me still. And Paul had kissed me and created another me, and his kiss cracked me open, and all the versions of myself felt exposed and in need of examination.
I’d been silent long enough for Paul to speak in my turn. “Well, should we make out some more?”
I laughed and shook my head. “You’re such an idiot.”
He grinned and leaned over, dropping kisses on each corner of my mouth, before placing one directly in the center. “All my favorite people tell me that.” He pulled away and shifted the truck into reverse, and turned us around. Somehow he made the drive back to Juniper comfortable, his dumb jokes and silly stories pushing out any awkwardness. Just as we could see the lights of the houses up ahead, he chuckled.
“What’s funny?” My lips already pulled at my face, smiling just because he was.
“You’re terrible at bowling.”
I shoved his shoulder. “Only with pumpkins. Someday I’ll show you what I can do with a bowling ball, and you’ll be impressed.”
“I’m always impressed.” He parked in front of my house, and I sighed because the living room lights were still on.
Paul hopped out of the truck and walked around to open my door. I hopped down, aware of the proximity of his body as I brushed past it.
He reached out and grabbed me around the waist, pulling me against him.
Embarrassment from earlier still sat just below the surface of my thoughts. To banish it, I went up on tiptoes to lay my mouth on his, barely able to believe I could just do that if I wanted. As he brought his arms around me, I heard a deep shout coming from my house. He tensed and jerked his head toward the sound. “What was that?”
“I’m sure it was nothing.”
“It sounded like somebody got hurt.”
He tried to step around me but I blocked his path. “Probably just an accident. Dad’s always stubbing his toes. But I better get inside.” I needed him to leave, because I knew it likely wasn’t a stubbed toe or burned finger.
“I want to see you tomorrow.”
“Okay.” I was distracted by the thudding sound I heard behind my front door. “Bye.” I kissed him on the cheek and ran across the grass before he could stop me. I waved from the porch, hoping he’d drive off, but he just waved back and stood there, waiting to make sure I got inside okay. I placed my palm flat on the door, and waited a second to catch my breath and brace myself.
“You shouldn’t have gone over there,” I heard my mom say. Her voice was muffled by the door between us, but I could hear the defensive timbre I’d heard so often before.
A series of thumps and thuds set me on alert, and I opened the door in a rush and closed it quickly behind me. Dad had fallen backward into the end table, knocking the lamp to the floor and shoving the table into the wall.
“Good grief, Todd,” Mom muttered, leaning over him to help him rise.
He snickered and rubbed his hand over the back of his head, his hair flopping this way and that. She pulled him to his feet and he swayed as he held onto her hands. “It’s Saturday night, Donna.” Then he saw me standing there and looked at me a long while, as though trying to figure out what I was doing there when I hadn’t been there a second ago. “It’s Saturday, Celia.”
“Yeah, Dad. It’s Saturday.” I tipped my head down and walked past them to Abe’s room, where I opened the door and peeked inside. I flipped on the light, and for a second my heart stopped to see his bed made and his room empty. Then I remembered that Abe was staying the night at Jeremy’s, and relief washed over me.
I went to my own room and sat on the edge of my bed and looked out the window and down the street at the houses glowing with warm light. Were the people in those houses watching movies or baking cookies or folding laundry? Were they rocking babies or making love or crying into their pillows?
I leaned back on my bed and pushed away what I’d seen when I arrived home. I touched my fingers softly to my lips, remembering the way Paul’s felt against them, the way his eyes touched every inch of my face, the way his hands felt on my body. And especially the way he didn’t let me ignore my fears, and how he didn’t let me check out when I tried to. Being present was scary, but I was beginning to understand it was worth it.