Page 84 of Salty Pickle

Her hair is damp and wavy, making the pink T-shirt we bought this morning dark on her shoulders. She likes sleeping in her yoga shorts, and the shiny black material molds to her thighs.

“You feeling okay?” I ask as I fill a glass from the fridge dispenser.

“Much better now that I’m clean.” She sets down her glass. “Oh, I got you something!”

“You did?”

She enters the pantry and returns with a small box. “I hid it in there.”

“You were sneaky.”

“It’s just a little something.”

I open the lid. Inside is an enamel keychain. I lift it out. It says, “Best goat dad.”

“You’ve been so terrific with Matilda. You made a home for her! And you sneaked her into your apartment in spite of the risk. You let her come with us to the expo.” She presses her lips together, and I can see she’s trying to hold back her emotion. “You were made to be a dad. You’re going to be great at it.”

I know I should simply thank her for the gift and move on.

But I don’t do that. I reach for her, tucking a strand of wet hair behind her ear.

When she looks up at me with those misty eyes, emotional, raw, I feel it all mirrored inside me. And I know I’m going to kiss her. I know we’re going to do more.

It feels inevitable.

And right.

25

LUCY

Iknow Court is going to kiss me a split second before he does it.

My body sinks into him as his lips brush against mine.

For a second, I think, that’s all it’s going to be. A gentle, friendly gesture.

But then he pulls me against him, and there’s nothing soft about it.

My body buzzes as we connect, all the round parts of me pressing into the wall of him. He cups the back of my neck and draws my face more tightly to him. His tongue parts my lips.

I’m falling into him, like he’s the cool river I need to dip into after a long, exhausting trek through hardship.

And he is. Everything that was a struggle is easy now. Food. Shelter. Care.

Court Armstrong isn’t salty at all. He’s perfect.

Memories of him from eight months ago flood through me as he wraps his arms around my waist. His mouth is warm and demanding, and every few seconds, the ground seems to move beneath my feet on his kitchen tile.

This kiss goes on and on, sending showers of anticipation arcing through me. His fingers find the base of my shirt and slip beneath it, sliding up my back.

I was prepping for bed, so I didn’t put on a bra. There’s nothing to get in the way of his tender exploration.

My skin tingles in the wake of his touch. He wanders upward until the shirt is pulled tight on my belly and stops his progress. He moves his hand down and around, slipping the fabric up as he goes.

Cool air hits the base of my belly and inches its way up. My mind gets distracted by visions of my pale, stretched skin being so visible in the harsh overhead light. I press my hands on top of his.

He stops immediately. “I’m sorry. Of course.”

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