The fact that he jumped to do it, though?
Was it to shut me up or calm me down? I did start verbally spiraling, but he抯 never really been phased by that. It抯 typically me who sends a self-conscious text about it later or makes a joke.
He抎 stepped up to me, after agreeing so simply. The swallow that bobbed his throat and the determination in his eyes had heat pooling in my core. A heartbeat tugging behind my bellybutton, through my chest, at the base of my throat.
And God, his hand at my pulse梐t the juncture where my neck meets my collar bone?the way he ran the tip of his thumb along my skin was so redolent of longing that the moment his lips touched mine, something broke loose inside me. He tasted so new and exciting, and yet like I somehow always knew he would. And the way he kissed me?it was as if it was just the first bite in a seven course meal. Like he was savoring it and letting the flavors coat his tongue. Like he planned to take his fucking time with it.
I was utterly lost, ready to climb him and let him take me beneath a tree, out of my mind?Clearly.
Whatever it is that broke loose in me is still in there rattling around, despite my attempts at drowning it with various apple flavored libations. There was no way I didn抰 expose myself a bit with that kiss, whether by my prompting it, or by the way I lost control. It was blatantly clear that there was nothing practiced about it.
And then Abel marched us over one more hill, to a huge clearing covered in long wooden picnic tables, and about sixty confused faces.
As it turns out, it抯 Abel and his wife Betty抯 fiftieth anniversary. Betty抯 family descends from another neighboring farm梩he Starfelds梬ho were once the Larsen抯 sworn enemies. A real Capulet and Montague situation by the sound of it.
But, Abel and Betty抯 relationship lead to the eventual union of their families, along with the other local farms, all of whom have supplied this party with a mishmash of goods.
I indulged in the hospitality after Abel introduced us as 揳 couple of wandering orchard neckers敆a title that was greeted with acceptance, like it抯 a regular occurrence or something. I was offered apple beer, and, not one to be rude, I accepted.
I suspect it抯 just apple cider mixed with beer, but it抯 apparently my new favorite thing. I was also given an apple rum cocktail （or two）， with a cute cinnamon stick and a caramel, sugared rim. I抦 a sucker for a cute themed beverage.
A knock on the door startles me, and I cringe, wondering how long I抳e been in here and how much time I lost track of. 揓ust a sec!?I call.
揊arley, it抯 me.?Meyer says through the door.
Blood skyrockets in my veins, and I look around for an escape. I抳e avoided making too much direct eye contact with him this whole time, engaging in the history of the farm, being rapt in our tour of the giant farmhouse and everyone抯 goods.
I抳e felt his eyes following me though, felt everywhere they touch me and press. I feel stupidly shy, embarrassed at the strength of my reaction to this new side of him. The rate at which I抳e been consuming drinks and conversation with anyone but him here is likely evident of that.
揟alk to me through the door??he says. I sigh. Bless this man.
揙kay.?
揂re you feeling alright? I, uh, got you some food.?
揝hit. Meyer, what time is it? We have to get Hazel don抰 we?!?I just realized.
揘o, I already called Marissa. She抯 got her. And I抦 not drinking so I抣l be fine to drive?whenever. We抮e free to stay and hang out.?
揙h, okay. Um. Okay, great.?Jesus, it抯 like I don抰 speak in front of people for a living.
揓ones. I抦 sorry, okay? I抦 sorry I was so bent on making the date happen, making you hike and then making you feel like you had to kiss me since nothing else was going according to plan. Let抯 just?take a mulligan on this one??
I peel my forehead off the door with a groan. 揗eyer, no. Stop.?I open the door too abruptly and he steps forward to catch himself, apparently having been leaning on it himself. My face bumps into his chest in the movement. 揙uch.?
揝orry. Again,?he says, taking a step back, plate of food held up like an offering.
揑抦 sorry. I shouldn抰 have implied that things weren抰 going well so you should just kiss me, I shouldn抰 have manipulated you like that, and then I shouldn抰 have卽m.?My god, I am blushing, I can feel it. I have simulated doggy-style on a stage in front of a crowd and this god damn conversation about a kiss is making me blush. 揥ell, it was a good kiss,?I shrug, the words coming out too quickly and too close together. I can抰 apologize for it in earnest because it was good and I抦 not ignorant. He was enjoying himself just fine.
His expression cracks, the laugh lighting up everything about his face and pulling my eyes to his. I automatically start to laugh back. 揑t was a fucking great kiss, Fee,?he replies, his eyes landing on my mouth and heating.
Not willing to risk the buzz making me misread the moment, I take the plate of food and thank him, shakily. We head back out to the party, the smells of barbecue and pies perfuming the air.
Meyer was recognized by a few of the guests earlier, and I now catch one of the grandsons taking a picture with his phone in my peripheral.
揗eyer梛ust a heads up, that kid over there has snapped a few pictures of you.?
揊ee, it抯 you too, not just me,?he smiles down at me and we find our spots at the end of a picnic table.
揘o chance.?
揂bsolutely a chance. I overheard him talking about it.?His eyebrows pinch even though he smiles, like he can抰 understand how I don抰 realize this.
I don抰 manage a reply, not sure how I feel. I focus instead on getting food in my system to counteract some of my reckless decisions.
Glasses clink around us, then, a tinkling sound that gathers and grows. Abel walks over, ruddy-faced from indulging himself and raises his glass at Meyer. 揟ell us the story of how you met.?
Meyer抯 eyes skitter across the crowd, as cheers and encouragements go up in the air. 揘o, no. I couldn抰。 This is your celebration, Abel,?he says.
揘onsense. We already know our own story. We want to know yours.?Abel replies.
I work to swallow my bite quickly and put my palm on Meyer抯 arm. 揑 always tell the story better, My, why don抰 I??He lets out a breath through his nose and nods in thanks, eyes speaking volumes.
揥ell alright then, stand up so we can all hear you,?Abel booms. Meyer slides off the bench and holds out his palm to me, jaw working. I stand up alongside him.
He looks down at me, his eyes never leaving, and all I can manage is to tell the truth. I can抰 come up with much else with the weight of his gaze and the feeling of his palm at my hip, tucked into his side this way. I embellish some parts, saying things that apply to our friendship but read like they apply to love in this case. Things like, 揳nd that抯 when I knew I抎 charmed him and he抎 never be rid of me.?Or, 揾e was pretty standoffish at first, but he kept coming around.?
The glasses start clinking again, spoons tap dancing against them when I抦 finished. So, I look up to his fierce frown, reach up on my toes and peck his lips. They soften just so to mine, just enough to give the people what they want.
揟hank you,?he huffs against my ear.
揑抳e got you. Always.?
揧ou do. I抳e got you too.?
14
18 MONTHS AGO
揓ust because nobody complains doesn抰 mean all parachutes are perfect.?- Benny Hill
FARLEY
The energy in the club is frenetic. There are pub tables littered throughout the dingy room, but not a seat to be found. Shoulders are rubbing like flint and steel, tempers rising. The air is stale, smelling like cigarettes in spite of the fact that it hasn抰 been legal to smoke inside here for decades. Someone is shoved and it dominoes through the crowd, the sound of a bottle breaking crashes. Shouts of 揥here the fuck is this guy??and 揥e want our money back!?are slung out in various forms.