“Then I hope your wine goes well with chicken, since that’s what I made,” she says as she walks through the house toward the kitchen.
“I’m sure it’ll work. I deliberately chose something uncomplicated.” I try to take in her place, see if I can catch a glimpse of Katie nestled among all the little details that are on the bookshelves and the coffee table, the color of her couch, the patterned rug, the walls, the photos and art on her walls. But I’m too entranced with the swing of her hips, the scent of her, light and airy, that lies just beneath the heavier smells coming from the kitchen.
I could inhale her forever.
“I made chicken Marsala,” she announces as she goes to stand behind the tiny island in the center of her kitchen, setting the bouquet of flowers on the counter. “And salad and garlic bread.”
I’ve never eaten chicken Marsala in my life. I grew up on ramen noodles and fast food. My father hadn’t been a big believer in eating healthy and we sure as shit didn’t eat anything that sounded fancy, with words like Marsala in the name.
“Sounds great,” I say as I come to a stop on the other side of the island. She still needs the barrier between us and I’m fine with that. Whatever makes her comfortable. I’m in her space, so I won’t push. She’s calling the shots tonight. I’ve handed over the power to her and she probably doesn’t realize it. “Smells even better.”
“I hope it tastes okay. This is the first time I’ve tried this recipe.” She blushes and looks down at the flowers, rubbing a velvety burgundy petal with her fingertips. “I should find a vase for these.” Turning around, she opens a cabinet, then takes a step back so she can look at the very top shelf. I glance up, catching sight of the lone vase sitting on the shelf, and know there’s no way she can reach it.
“Let me help you,” I start as she protests she can reach it when we both know she can’t. I stop just behind her, so close my front presses against her back as I reach around her and grab the vase and hand it to her. I don’t move away, my arm still curved in front of her, and she takes the vase from me, our fingers grazing, electricity sparking where we touched.
“Thank you,” she says breathlessly. She remains in place, as if she’s almost afraid to move, and now I reach for her, tease the strands of hair close to her right cheek with my index finger before I slowly tuck them behind her ear, my finger lightly tracing the curve, teasing the pearl earring she wears, before my hand drops.
“You look pretty tonight, Katie,” I tell her, my voice low, my thoughts complete chaos. I’m strung tight. I’ve been here less than five minutes and all I can think about is exactly how far she will let me go tonight.
Because I want to touch her. Kiss her.
Desperately.
“Okay.” Will stopped in front of the low, nondescript building that looked like it was built sometime in the sixties or seventies. It was ugly, with a squat, flat roof, the walls constructed of brick that was painted a washed-out green. It reminded me of what a prison should look like. “We’re here.”
My thoughts weren’t too far off. “This is the police station?” I rubbed at my gritty, stinging eyes like I was a little kid.
I was tired. My brain wasn’t firing right and I couldn’t wrap my head around . . . anything. I just wanted something to drink. To find somewhere to lie down so I could close my eyes, at least for a little bit. I wanted Mom and Dad. I wanted to go home.
“Yeah. So go.” He pushed at my shoulder, kind of roughly, and I stepped away from him, turning so I could face him. “What are you waiting for? Get out of here.”
“What do you mean, ‘get out of here’? You’re not walking in with me?” I asked incredulously.
He shook his head, all that raven hair falling in his eyes, his mouth thinning into a straight line. I could still see the hoop of his lip ring, his tongue darting out to tease it, and I waited breathlessly for his answer. It took forever and when the words finally came, haltingly, a little shaky, I closed my eyes, knowing he would say something I didn’t want to hear.
“I . . . I can’t, Katie.” I opened my eyes to see him staring at me, his expression pained, his eyes so dark. Bottomless, really. “I go inside with you and my entire life will change.”
“And that’s a bad thing?” I couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t want his life to change. How good could it be, having that—that horrible, disgusting man as his father? Did he do things to Will? Did he abuse him and force him to do . . .
“I don’t know—it scares the shit out of me.” Will’s voice was harsh. “I’d rather just avoid my dad and not have to deal with anything, you know?”