Page 33 of Nocere

"Well, you deserve better than that. And more respect than being ghosted," she said earnestly as her brow narrowed. "For the record, I don't think you're too quiet or too agreeable."

"At least not yet."

"Fair point."

"What about you? When was the last time you dated someone seriously?" I tossed her question right back at her.

"Last year, I dated a woman for a few months. We wanted different things and I decided to end it."

"What did she want that you didn't?"

"Kids and marriage right away. I might be a fast mover in other regards, but not when it comes to big commitments and things like that. I've had a failed marriage already, and kids aren't something I see myself ready for right now. She wanted that within six months and she hadn't even visited my apartment, and we saw each other maybe once a week."

"Doesn't seem like you were very in love with her." The observation tumbled from my lips. My analytical mind, always assessing, always checking, began to understand Samirah more as time went on. Her micro-movements—the way she moved her mouth, her eyebrows, her hands—spoke of a language all her own, and I only just began to understand it.

Samirah tilted her head, a small smile playing on her lips. "I wasn't."

"Why not?"

"I'm not sure. I just...wasn't."

"Have you ever been?"

"Perhaps briefly." She shrugged, dragging a bite of chicken from her fork with her lips. "Have you?"

I shook my head. "Not yet."

"What would it take for you to fall in love with someone?"

My thoughts jumbled about as I searched for an answer to her question while wiping off a spot of sauce from the edge of my dish. "Feeling safe. Cared for. Made a priority."

"That sounds very nice, Rosie."

"Sounds like three wishes made to a genie." I folded my napkin and set it on top of my empty plate. "Dinner was delicious. Thank you for making it."

"Any time. I also make a killer pot roast. Maybe next time I'll make that for you," she said, her smile broadening when she narrowed her eyes. "Assuming you'll accept my next invitation."

I laughed softly as I lifted my dish to tote it to the sink. "Maybe. Don't ghost me."

"I won't." Samirah reached her arm out, her fingers grazing my side. "You don't have to clean up."

My stomach flip-flopped under the gesture and I paused beside her. "It's okay."

"Something tells me…" She stood up slowly and urged the plate from my hands. "That you're used to feeling like a burden to people. And keeping yourself neatly tucked together, without making an imprint on the environment of others, is a way to keep those feelings at bay."

I met her gaze as the truth she spewed struck me hard. My resolve wavered when she exposed one of my faulted beliefs rooted in years of foster care.

"You're not a burden to me. I am happy to share my space with you." She set the plate down on the counter beside her own. "Remnants of your visits make me smile." Every phrase, every word she spoke brought an air of deliberateness. I watched her mouth as the words left her lips and sent cooling shivers down my spine.

"Okay," I nearly whispered as I fought the mist that rose to my eyes and the tightening in my throat. I held her gaze, her pretty hazel eyes scanning my face.

Samirah brushed my hair from my shoulders in a gentle caress. "Can I kiss you?"

I nodded my affirmation and she poked a single finger under my chin before leaning in to close the space between us. Her lips, warm and delicate against mine, somehow made her confession seem more genuine, sealing it like a promise. I allowed myself to stroke the long strands of her hair that fell down her front while she poked her tongue against my lips. Every inch of me burned and raged with desire to melt under her. I ached to feel the weight of her, and the tangle of our limbs in a full-body embrace.

Samirah's thumbs stroked my cheeks, and I let my hand fall to the center of her chest when our kiss ended.

"Tell me your thoughts," she whispered. "What are you thinking?"

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