This Summer Will Be Different(87)

“You haven’t always thought that,” I say, smiling. I don’t think I knew what happiness was until this moment.

“I have.” He pushes a stand of hair off my forehead. “And I loved your smile. It’s as bright as sunshine. I loved your lips, and your breasts, and your hips. I loved your thighs.” His mouth trails south. He unbuttons my jacket and kisses the trio of moles. “I loved these three dots.” He kisses his way back up, his face returns to mine. “Are you following?”

“I think I am.”

“Let’s make sure, Lucy.” His eyes sparkle. So does the dimple. “I love your name. Lucy Beth Ashby. I love the feel of it in my mouth. I love the way you braid your hair before bed. I worship the nightgowns. And your dresses. The one you wore when we met. The purple one with the bow around the middle.” A finger steals across my cheekbone, over my bottom lip. “Your skin. It’s so soft. The way your lipstick tastes, like wax and honey. The way you taste when you come.”

“If you keep talking like that, I might ask you to ravish me right here in this frozen field.”

Felix’s hands travel to my lower back, crushing me to him. I go willingly.

“I’d ravish you anywhere, but I’m not done yet. I love how much you love my sister, and your shop, and that cow statue.”

“Wowie,” I say.

His smile grows. Blossoms to its fullest. “Wowie,” he says. “I love your strong opinions on butter. And the things you can do with flowers. You’re an artist, Lucy. I love how you hold a knife, and I love watching you eat. I love the way you blush. Fuck, the way you blush. I love how you ask questions and really listen to the answers. I love every book you sent me, every package of seeds. Every look you’ve given me. Every touch. Every kiss. You could throw up in my truck a dozen times, and I wouldn’t mind.”

I laugh, but my heart is singing, More. Felix.

“How can you make that sound romantic? I love the things that come out of your mouth.”

“Your mouth is exquisite. Lusher than any garden. More gorgeous than any rose.”

“Your words,” I say. “So beautiful.”

I map his jaw with my fingertips, then set my palm on his chest. He places his hand atop mine.

“There have been times when staying away from you has felt as impossible as not breathing. I think I’m made for you, Lucy,” he says. “Since the first day we met, I think a piece of my heart has belonged to you. Every year, it just got bigger and bigger. I don’t know when it became more. Maybe when you put that pink package of butter in my hand. It could have been when we watched each other in the bathroom mirror. Or when you came to me that Thanksgiving. Or when I saw your shop. Or when you sent me that first book. Or when we went to the lighthouse at the end of this peninsula, and you looked like you’d never been happier to be anywhere or with anyone. I don’t know when it happened, but the whole thing is yours, Lucy. My entire heart if you want it.”

I press a hand over his lips. “That’s enough talking.”

“I have more to say.”

“I know you do.” I loop both arms around him. I look into his eyes, the most radiant of all the blues. “But I traveled across the country so I could tell you, and you’re not beating me to it. I love you, Felix.”

Felix blinks, and then tips his head back. A laugh, glorious, erupts from him, and then he plants his hands on either side of my face. “You.” He kisses me once. “I am so in love with you. Wildly. Deeply. Unrelentingly in love with you.”

Felix’s mouth is on mine again, and it’s not a polite kiss. There’s sucking and biting and big hands all over.

“Home,” he says. “I want to take you home.”



* * *



? ? ?

A boot on the door mat. A coat flung onto the couch. My sweater littering the hallway. We are giddy and frantic, just like the first time. Our kisses are sloppy. Our smiles are, too. But when we step into Felix’s room, his mouth slows down. I have no idea where my skirt went.

I tell him over and over, “I love you. I love you.” It slips off my tongue easily. Holding it back was the hard part.

We kiss, and touch, and roll around until Felix makes his way down my body. He runs his tongue over the pink bands my bra has stamped into my flesh, following the grooves. I feel his callouses over my ribs. I love these hands. I admire the golden brown of his forearms. I love this skin. His palm slides down my torso, along my stomach, and between my legs.

“You look like a dream,” he says before his mouth follows.

After I come so loud that I’m thankful Felix doesn’t have neighbors, I pull him back to me. Kiss his mouth, tell him how much I love it. I make him lie down, so I can get on top. I look at him beneath me, lips slick, eyes hooded. When I fit myself around him, he lifts his chin to the ceiling.

“I might not last long,” he says, voice ragged. “It’s been a while.”

“That’s okay. We have time for a second round.”

He takes a deep inhale, and I circle my hips once. His eyelids flutter, so I do it again. This will be fun.

“What’s that look?” he grits out.

“I was wondering how fast I could end this.” I reach behind me, running a hand along his inner thigh, over his birthmark. He groans and closes his eyes. I watch his chest rise and fall, but when he meets my gaze again, he’s wearing a look of total determination. I know this look. I’m in trouble.