This Could Be Us (Skyland, #2)(59)
“I’m gonna grab some photos of the empty pavilion still lit from outside,” Inez tells me, her expression bright with exertion and excitement. She’s been all over today, capturing shots and helping out.
“You’ve been amazing, Nez.” I tug one of the long braids hanging over her shoulder. “Yasmen had to go pick up Lupe and Deja from their field trip. The bus just got there, but she left a crew to clean up, so we get to leave soon. How ’bout that?”
“Cool!” She takes off, phone and light in hand.
“Okay, that’s it.” I kick my foot behind me and grab the strap of my slingback, tugging it off and repeating with the other foot. I pad over to the wine station, grabbing an unopened bottle.
“You’re coming home with me,” I tell the merlot.
“Lucky bottle.”
I swing around, and at the sight of Judah, my synapses start frying and my heartbeat starts tripping and something flutters in the belly region. I’m having an all-over startled reaction to this man.
“Oh!” I press the wine to my chest. “I thought you were gone.”
“No, I just went to the car to get something.”
“I thought maybe… well, that lady at your table seemed kind of… friendly. I thought you…” I stop, mortified that I let this private thought out and that he knows I was so aware of him all night. I can’t lift my eyes from my bare toes against the dark parquet flooring we laid in the pavilion.
“I don’t know her. I didn’t come for her.” One long finger lifts my chin, and the sincerity in his eyes reaches through my chest and squeezes my heart. “I came for you, Sol.”
“Oh. Okay.” It’s all I can manage.
He pulls something from the pocket of his slacks and holds it out to me. It’s an acrylic bookmark, clear with purple and white pressed flowers inside. “This is for you.”
“Judah.” I look up from the bookmark, so small and fragile in his wide palm, to his face. “It’s beautiful.”
“I saw you talking about starting a book club and thought…” A smile that mocks himself comes and goes, briefly softening the stern lines of his face. “It’s kind of silly now that—”
“It’s not. It’s one of the sweetest things anyone’s done for me in a long time.”
His teeth flash, white and straight against the darkness of his skin. “One of the artisans had a lot of them at her tent, but I saw this one and I thought you might like it now that you’re reading more.”
“I want to read more. We haven’t even chosen our first book yet.” I bite into a smile and tease him through my lashes. “And have you been stalking my socials?”
“I can’t seem to stop.”
Our smiles fade together as his words drift down between us, soft and so revealing.
“And I keep asking myself: Why can’t I stop watching this woman restock her refrigerator?” He shakes his head with a smile that’s not quite comfortable. “Or wash her sheets? Or organize the cabinet under her sink?”
A laugh bolts out of me at the unexpected comment. “That’s ASMR.”
“What the hell is ASMR?”
“Autonomous sensory meridian response. It’s like feeling soothed or stimulated even by certain sounds, background noise, whispering, pages being turned. All kinds of things, but it makes you feel good when you watch it.”
“It’s not that.” He takes my hand and folds my fingers around the bookmark but doesn’t let go. “It’s you. I like watching you.”
I’m trapped in this moment—the clean, intoxicating scent of him, the heat of his body this close, the intensity of his eyes caressing my face, my neck and shoulders bared by my dress—but instead of fighting my way out, I long to burrow in for a few stolen seconds.
“I saw your anniversary dinner,” he says softly. “When you went to Spiros by yourself.”
“You did?” I ask, barely breathing.
“I was rooting for the black dress,” he says, his eyes never leaving my face. “But you looked so good in the red.”
“Th-thank you. It turned out to be a great night.”
“You have a way of doing that, taking shitty things and making them turn out great.”
I don’t know what to say. I blink at him, astounded by his unexpected sweetness. He’s always so serious and brusque. That I bring this out of him is humbling.
“It sounds like you’re on a self-partnering journey right now,” he says. “No dating, right?”
“Right.” I lick my lips and nod numbly. “None.”
“I think that’s great, especially so soon after your divorce.” He squeezes my hand, which he’s still holding. “And I don’t want to distract from what you’re learning about yourself.”
It’s what he should say. It’s what I want him to say, what I need him to say, but Judah is something rare. I think we could be spectacular together. I’m not ready, though. It’s like feeling him with just the tips of my fingers and not being sure I’ll be able to hold on.
“I guess I wanted to let you know that when you are ready to spend time with someone else,” he says, “I’d like to be someone.”