“All of them. Every single one,” I tell her. “Except Tyler’s mom.”
“I’m guessing from your tone, that’s not good?” She prompts.
“Not for Tyler’s mom,” I confess, tucking the weed into the ready paper.
“How so?”
I shake my head, catching myself. “Not my shit to tell.”
“Ahh, more secrets.”
“Yeah, so keep that shit to yourself,” I snap a little too harshly.
Jesus, fuck, Dom.
She takes another drink, eyes flaring before they soften as she lowers the bottle. “Want to talk about it?”
“Consider ‘never’ my standard answer for that question,” I swipe away debris from the table.
“I’ll try to keep that in mind,” she rolls her eyes.
As much as I like sparring with her, it feels off now, considering what just transpired between us physically.
I’ll never get this right.
Soaking the closed joint between my lips, I feel the familiar weight on my profile.
“I’ll never get tired of watching you do that,” she whispers heatedly, “it’s sexy as hell.”
There it is again, the discomfort. Though I can’t really fault her because we both speak bluntly, Cecelia’s bold truths provoke a raw type of honest response that pry into me. Keeping to my task, I catch another involuntary, full-body shiver in my peripheral. She’s still cold.
Tucking my blunt behind my ear, I snatch the unopened bottle in one hand and hold out my other, nodding toward the wine she holds. “Cap that. Let’s go.”
“Already?” She deflates, eyes dropping while taking my hand and reluctantly standing.
Back in the car, feeling her disappointment from where she shivers next to me, I make a fast decision and turn right, treading slowly up the paved, steep inclined road that leads to the top of the mountain. The main tasting room and reception hall to our left, Cecelia audibly gasps when she sees what’s waiting on the right as it gradually comes into view. “Dom, oh my God, this is . . . wow!”
Transfixed, she exits the car in a dream-like state, and I grin and follow. I pass a handful of tables to join her where she sits on the waist-high rock wall lining the cliff. Before us is an endless view of the peaks and valleys of the Blue Ridge Mountains. We spend a few minutes in comfortable silence. It’s when I light my blunt that she rips her gaze away, glancing over. “So that’s your only true vice,” she nods to the joint, “besides breakfast,” she giggles.
“Don’t drink too much,” I warn. “Red wine has a way of sneaking up on you.”
“I am feeling a little tingly,” she admits.
“I don’t fuck the unconscious,” I warn.
“Wow,” her eyes widen in mock surprise. “Such a gentleman,” she muses before grabbing another eyeful of the landscape. “。 . . you know, for a guy who thinks romance is a gimmick, this is pretty incredible.”
“Not a gimmick, just not—”
“—something that interests you, yeah, yeah, heard you loud and clear the first time. At least we’re past the fuck-you-eyes and grunting stage,” she jests as I give her a warning look.
“Oh, nope, seems we’ve regressed,” she giggles again.
Unable to help it, I shake my head with a grin.
“Ah, and progress in the next second, it’s a tango with you, King, but I’m guessing you don’t dance, either.”
Offering her the blunt, she refuses it, and I take a long pull, answering on exhale. “You guessed right.”
She turns back to the stunning view spread before us. “Yeah, nothing romantic about this at all,” she deadpans. “This must be killing you, Mr. Gloom and Doom.”
Instead of snapping at her that this wasn’t intentional, I let it go.
Even if I think romantic love is mostly a chemically induced state, she believes in it. There’s no need for me to be a dick about it or try to ruin her idea of it. Sean can give her all she needs in that department. I’m glad in that respect because she deserves to believe for as long as she can. Life has a way of ripping our ideas and hopes about the things that matter most to us to shreds.
We sit quietly for long minutes as I tug on my blunt. Fortune has a good fucking laugh at my expense when, in the distance, a solid rainbow appears.
Cutting her eyes my way, Cecelia presses her lips together until she loses her battle, bursting into a fit of hysterical laughter. “Talk about an epic backfire,” she says through a laugh, “poor baby, this must be torturous for you.”
“Shut up.”
“Just waiting on a unicorn to do a fly-by and drop a crown in my lap,” she muses. “Considering I’ve already snagged a temperamental Prince who rides a dark horse,” she nods back toward my Camaro.
“Hilarious,” I quip, pulling the last of my joint and stomping it under my boot before glancing back at the rainbow. “They’re actually pretty common around here,” I tell her, just as another faded duplicate appears behind it, both beginning and ending in a high arch over the expansive neon green terrain.
“Holy shit,” she exclaims, “so I’m guessing this is common too?”
Stunned by the sight of it, I can’t remember the last time I saw a rainbow, let alone bothered looking for one. Music drifts from my speakers as I immerse myself in the created atmosphere—intentional or not—while a light buzz settles into me. Tension easing up substantially, mind slowing as I remain present, I somehow manage to slip back into a scarce, tranquil state along with her. Turning to Cecelia, I watch her watching the show, her expression wistful. Maybe it’s the wine and the bud, or maybe it’s her, but I can’t rip my eyes away. I’ve never been so attracted to a woman in my life.
Whoosh. Whoosh.
Sensing my stare, Cecelia slowly turns to me, her smile fading when I cup the back of her head and pull her close.
The ever-present buzz increases as I sweep my tongue along her lower lip, capturing a droplet of lingering wine on the corner before pulling away, our lips brushing.
Whoosh. Whoosh.
Whoosh. Whoosh.
Feeding from the charged current continually humming between us, she stares back at me, equally as ensnared.
Fuck it.
The kiss starts deep, going past what I went in for, lasting for long, blissful seconds, maybe more, as she clutches me to her. It’s when my chest rattles in awareness that I break the kiss abruptly and stand. “Let’s go take a shower.”
Her eyes light as she reads the meaning between the words—that our time together isn’t over as far as I’m concerned. Not even close.
And I’m right because it rains for the next two days.
“You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed.”—Le Petit Prince, Antoine de Saint-Exupéry
Sean and I stand on opposite ends of the island, sipping morning brew, debating the news as if the stalemate we’ve been in since the Meetup doesn’t exist. Though it’s still apparent, the glimmer in his eyes is back, and it’s no big mystery who put it there. Just as I think it, the source catches both of our attention as she halts all movement at the landing of the stairs. Fresh from Sean’s shower, she idles in black boy shorts and a form-fitting tank—her expression that of a deer caught in two sets of headlights. To be fair to her, this is the first morning she’s been alone with the two of us since this started. Sean glances toward me, a brow lifted in amusement, before making his first attempt to lure her toward us. “Hey, Pup, have a good shower?”