Under the Same Stars(88)
Austin jokingly bought me a kid’s purple bike helmet with gold stars, while Marco gifted me an old-fashioned bell, the same one his mom had for her beach cruiser. “For you to ring in the hallways,” he explained. “You don’t want to run anyone over on your way to calculus.”
“What if they deserve it?” I’d quipped.
“Then you’ll wipe out half the school,” he’d quipped back.
My parents had another Intimidating Dads conversation with Marco after I’d announced that he, the dark horse, was now the last suitor standing. It started with We thought this might happen, and ended with You will be answering to us if you break her heart.
“I understand.” Marco nodded solemnly. “And if it helps, I’m highly confident that if it comes to that, Mads will break my heart.”
Dad clapped him on the shoulder. “No wonder you’re a Princeton man!”
Because I wasn’t very mobile, and for a million other reasons, Marco and I agreed to take things slow. He came home from school a couple nights a week to study and watch Rangers games even though he knew nothing about hockey. And Connor, who for once was enjoying the single life, lost it after game three. “For the love of god, ?lvarez, if you’re going to watch a hockey game, at least learn your hockey…”
Once I mastered my scooter, we ventured into town. Marco drove and then insisted on walking on the street side of the sidewalk. “You’re the only guy I know who does that,” I remarked after he soundlessly ducked to the left. “Even before my ankle, you always made sure I was nowhere near the road.”
I remembered our first walk in Princeton; whenever I got too close to the curb, Marco smoothly nudged me toward the storefronts.
Marco smiled. “It’s a tale as old as time,” he said. “Men would stroll street-side so passing carriages wouldn’t ruin women’s dresses by splashing mud or water on them.” He paused. “Horse shit, too. Horse shit was everywhere.”
I laughed, and in response, Marco took my hand and threaded our fingers together. Smiling, I squeezed as he knocked on Fable’s discreet front door. The hostess opened the top left mahogany pane, exchanged a nod with Marco, and then opened the door and led us to a secluded, smoky-mirrored nook in the back. Marco helped me into the cushy velvet banquette and carefully propped my boot up on the chair across from us before joining me. We ordered almost every appetizer and drink off the mocktail list. It was then that I discovered that Marco was adorably affectionate by nature, and that I was, too. We only let go of each other’s hands to eat, and every so often, I leaned over to drop a kiss on his warm shoulder.
By the time Fable’s famous butterscotch pudding arrived, Marco had wrapped an arm around my shoulders and we were kissing. Silently, slowly, dreamily kissing. “Marco ?lvarez, what would your mother say?” our server asked.
“Something encouraging,” Marco replied as I blushed. “She’s wanted this”—he gestured between us—“to happen for a while.”
In mid-November, Marco invited me to Stone Harbor for the night. My parents asked me to close up the house for the winter, he texted me, and I’d like some company.
Company sounds spectacular! I’d said, pulse twisting and turning with pleasure. But I don’t know if my parents will be cool with it.
I’ll ask them, he texted.
I had no idea what Marco ended up saying to my dads, but amazingly, they gave us the green light. I suspected they knew Marco wasn’t going to try anything; my boot-and-scooter combo was an effective chaperone.
Marco knew how to drive stick, so after some begging and pleading on his part, I let him drive the Defender to the shore. I liked the way he drove, with one hand on the wheel and the other on my knee between gear shifts. He looked completely at ease, and I kept not-so-sneakily snapping photos of him. “They’re for my own personal consumption,” I said.
I hadn’t told the bridesmaids about Marco and me yet. Katie knew, but I didn’t want her friends to act like Marco had won a contest. I mean, I’d joked that he had, and his grin said he knew it, but this was different. I wanted it to be just the two of us for a little while.
It felt good to see the ?lvarez cottage again with its light green shingles, pebbled yard, and picket fence. Marco helped me inside—my scooter wasn’t meant for such rocky terrain, so I’d packed my crutches—and he brought our stuff in after I sank into the den’s deep couch. We watched an episode of that creepy stalker show You, but while curled into Marco’s side, his body as warm and cozy as a crackling fire, my eyelids fluttered shut.
I must’ve slept for an hour, maybe longer. The TV was off when I woke up, and Marco gone. I found him in the kitchen, humming as he stirred something on the stove. We’d picked up groceries on the way here. “Hello…” I said, my delivery perfectly Penn Badgley. “YOU.”
Marco jumped and spun to face me. “Never do that again,” he said, dead serious. “Please.”
I smirked. “Dinner smells incredible.”
“Paella,” he said, which was like a Spanish stir-fry with rice, saffron, vegetables, chicken, and shrimp. “It’ll be ready in a few minutes.”
“Okay.” I leaned my crutches against the wall and then hopped over to hug him from behind. He laughed when I nuzzled the back of his neck.