I frowned. “What?”
He cleared his throat. “Well, I feel weird saying this after you mentioned your mom, but my family, uh … died. In a car accident, just before Christmas. My mom and dad and my little brother. It was snowy and this idiot tourist…” He shook his head. “I don’t normally think about it, because if I think about it, it’s just too hard. Like if I remember how it used to be, I can’t move. Just sort of caught me by surprise there. Sorry.”
“No,” I breathed, feeling the lump in my throat grow, “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. They’re in a better place now. And I get by. It’s all right.”
He smiled and I noticed his food was gone.
“You done?”
He nodded, swallowing a few times.
I reached for his plate, but he stood up quickly and grabbed mine. “You cooked dinner; the least I can do is clear the table.”
I nodded, and then started washing the frying pan and utensils as he brought everything over to the sink. We worked side by side for a few minutes in silence. When he didn’t have anything else to do, he stuffed his hands in his pockets and I turned to him.
“Tommie, I’m really sorry. About your family.”
He smiled a sad half smile. “I am, too. For you.”
My eyes were watering so I turned to the sink and continued washing plates. He passed behind me and went back to the laundry room. I followed him a minute later, since weren’t that many dishes to clean. Tommie was hard at work on the water heater, concentrating on the pipes. He looked up when I walked in.
“You need anything else?” I asked.
He stood up slowly, his eyes fluttering from me to the water heater and back. He cleared his throat. “Y’know, I may be forward by asking this, but I honest to God haven’t touched anyone since my parents and Jake died. I’ve forgotten…” He laughed nervously, but it was a sad sound. “I’ve forgotten what it feels like. Could—that is, would you mind if I hugged you?”
A part of me thought the whole situation was absurd, but the larger part of me knew what he was talking about. I’d felt this exact way after my mom died. I nodded and he took a step forward. Slowly, he raised his arms, placing them gently around my shoulders like I’d break. He let out a breath and let the weight of his arms pull me closer, resting his cheek lightly on top of my head. I hugged him back because I knew the price of a hug when there was no one you could depend on to hug you freely. I hugged him back because he wanted to hug me. I hugged him back because it felt good.
He pulled back a little and I looked up at him to say something dumb and sympathetic, but then his lips were on mine and I was dizzy and confused and we just stood like that for a moment, barely touching. He pulled away.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, and cleared his throat. “I didn’t mean to do that.”
“You didn’t mean to kiss me?” I asked, still in shock.
“No. Well, I mean, I definitely wanted to, I just didn’t mean to actually do it.”
But he was still holding on to me. And I was still holding on to him.
He looked at me again, and for some reason, I didn’t look away. The moment became heavy, and he leaned down once more.
And once again, I didn’t stop him.
He pulled me gently against him and I returned the kiss very, very slowly. Far away, I could hear my phone ringing. I ran my hands up his back, feeling the rippling muscles that came from hard labor, from real work, and he kissed me again and backed me up against the wall and held me pinned there with his body and I didn’t mind because this was what I wanted; this was what I’d always wanted. My phone stopped ringing.
He picked me up, wrapped my legs around his waist, and we crashed back against the wall and his lips were on my neck, my jaw, my mouth. Somehow, we were walking and we were kissing and he set me on the couch and leaned down over me, and my nerves were on fire and I was unbuttoning his shirt and damn he looked good and I wondered if there’d ever been a time I’d ever wanted anything else and then I stopped wondering because his hands were sliding under my shirt and lifting it over my head and it felt so nice to have my skin pressed against his skin and I was glad I’d worn a cute bra today. Then his lips were skimming down my throat and chest and stomach and buttons were being unbuttoned and zippers unzipped and I was happy because I’d been waiting for this, for him, and here we were. My jeans were beginning to slide slowly down my hips and I whispered “Adrian” against his lips. There was a small breath of frigid air and the click of the front door opening, which I couldn’t spare any brainpower to think about, but a voice was calling my name, which caught my attention enough that I opened my eyes.
And there was Adrian, standing in the open front door.