“How about this one?” I stare at the painting of a black dog lying next to an empty dog bowl.
“Maybe a painting about loneliness? The dog feels empty?” I do my best to respond articulately but fail miserably.
“I think the painter is trying to tell us of his inner turmoil. He lost the love of his life at a young age and never recovered from it.” I can’t help pursing my lips at the painting, trying to understand how he sees all that. Maybe I’m just not the artistic type. When Vick bursts into laughter, I look up at him.
“God, I swear I love your facial expressions sometimes.”
I scowl at him. He’s messing with me again.
“Sorry, hon,” he chuckles. “You were right. It’s just a lonely, hungry dog.
“You know, one day I’m going to get you. You won’t even see it coming,” I warn.
He smiles down at me as we move on. “I’ll be waiting.”
We continue, stopping to look at other paintings and discussing what we see. To his credit, he doesn’t let on if he thinks I’m an idiot. He simply nods and smiles thoughtfully at my nonsense. About halfway through, his hand finds mine, and he threads our fingers together. My stomach feels like I’m on a rollercoaster, but when he squeezes my hand gently I realize I like it; I like holding his hand as we lazily stroll down the sidewalk. It’s been a long time since a man’s held my hand. Near the end, there’s a three-piece jazz band playing a slow song. Vick pulls me to him and slowly, we begin moving in rhythm with the song. The side of his chin is resting against my temple, and he’s humming along. I close my eyes and open myself up. I want to soak in this incredibly romantic moment, make the most of it. So when he pulls back and looks at me, his blue eyes full of mirth, I tell him, “I’m ready.”
We were already dancing slowly, but his movements slow even more as his expression morphs to a serious one. Then, his hands come up and gently grip my face as he stares into my eyes, his calloused thumbs brushing ever so softly over my cheek bones. The music, the lights, the people, the art—it all fades away as he leans in and presses his lips to mine. The kiss is soft and eager yet unassuming. His mouth parts slightly as mine opens for him, all the while we sway with the music. When he pulls away, I know my face must be seven shades of bright red. His hands are still gripping my cheeks softly as he leans in and quietly says, “Thank you, Demi.”
Without another word, he takes me in his arms once more and dances with me. I press my forehead to his chest as we move and smile.
That. Was. Perfect.
By the time Vick dropped me off at home, it was late. I noticed as soon as we pulled in the driveway that Connor’s bike was gone, and I couldn’t help wondering where he was. Vick walked me to the back porch and kissed me again, this time a little more aggressively, but not inappropriately. We agreed to meet for dinner Wednesday at Turvey’s, and after another longer kiss, he went on his way.
“So he’s a good kisser?” Wendy muses as she pours us both a mug of coffee. I’ve spent the last twenty minutes telling her all about the new guy in town, and she’s eaten up every word.
I can’t help smiling a little as I stare down at the mug she’s just slid to me. “He’s a great kisser,” I confirm.
Wendy takes the seat next to me at the table. The kids are outside playing and somehow she managed to get Grayson down for a nap which is perfect because I need her undivided attention. This is a conversation that may not go over well. As a whole, parents hearing someone tell them their kid may have a disability, specifically autism, doesn’t usually go over well. Denial is common.
“It’s been so long since I’ve had a first kiss,” Wendy sighs.