Page 114 of The Kiss of Deception

He traps it under the pressure of his shiver-inducing calloused palm. “As long as you always kiss me better.”

“You are ridiculous.”

“You love me.”

I do.

I love him.

I have been falling for a long, long time. And I’m tired. I’m exhausted of fighting it, fighting us. Of denying myself happiness, or at least the possibility.

Locking his arms behind my back, Miles sways us from one foot to the other, slow dancing to the quiet soundtrack of a shy moon night, crickets and cicadas in the grass.

“Tell me. Let’s make sense of it.” How can I not love him just for that? For knowing me, understanding my need to understand—to make sense of everything, including the things that have no sense to make. “From now on, there are no more things left unsaid. We talk to each other, and we listen to each other.”

A long exhale leaves me, taking the things I bottled up, the ones I shoved down and the ones I never dared to acknowledge.

“I’m afraid. I’m insecure. I’m unsure.” I twirl my fingers in the overgrown strands of his velvety hair. “I have never felt anything like this before, Miles. The feelings I have for you… they scare me. They’re devastating. Right now, it’s all rainbows and roses. But life is change.” I splay my hand in his butterfly, pressing at the word metamorphosis. “I’m afraid that one day, I might wake up and you won’t be here, willingly or not.”

“I will always be here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Back and forth, I shake my head, trying to pull away. He doesn’t let me, tightening his locked hands on the small of my back, still swaying us slowly. “No one gets married thinking they’ll get a divorce; no one has a baby thinking the father will up and move across the country or the damn ocean.”

“And yet people get married and have babies anyway, everyday.”

“You can’t realistically promise me forever, Miles.” My fingers curve, clawing at the ink. Begging him to prove me wrong so I can be his and he can be mine. “There are so many ways this can blow up in flames.”

“And there are so many ways this can bloom—all we need is one.” He unlocks his grip, tilting my chin to deliver his words directly to my soul. “You’re right. We don’t know tomorrow. But here’s what I know. Forever is made of nows, little moments and small choices. Forever is a decision we make every day—and the work it entails.

“That’s what I promise you. I promise I will wake up tomorrow and choose you as I choose you today, right now. I promise I will choose to fight for you and for us—even when what I’m fighting is you and this beautiful mind of yours. And I promise I will always hold your hand while you fight your demons for us.”

Possibilities flutter like the fireflies in the dark, lighting up every corner of my soul.

Hope.

Future.

Us.

“I—” The demons whisper in my head, but I listen to Miles’s promises instead. I know in my heart he means them. I choose to believe them, too. I choose to believe we’ll always have the choice, and we’ll always choose each other, every day. “I’m still scared.”

“I know.” He smiles softly. “You can be scared while I kiss you.” He kisses the tip of my nose. “In fact, I will kiss you every time you get scared.” He kisses the lines between my brows. “I will kiss all your fears away.” Then, my forehead. “And if they ever come back—” My cheekbone, right under my eyes that fall closed. “I will kiss you again.” Finally, my lips. “Always.” One peck, once more.

“That will be a lot of kissing.” He doesn’t pull away, and neither do I, my words delivered right into his mouth.

“Yeah?” His words brush against my lips. “Sounds like the perfect life for me.”

“I’ll make sure to stock up on lip balm, then.”

Miles trails my jawline with his lips to whisper in my ear. “I never said which lips I’ll kiss.”

His hands descend from my lower back to give my ass a rough squeeze. I swat his chest, laughing, but he yanks me back, kissing me with the vehemence of his promises, with blind faith and fierce conviction.

Little cold droplets land in contrast with the warmth of my skin. Tick-tick-tick-tick, short and quick, then a hiss, longer and lower. The wet sputter of the sprinklers watering the garden cuts through the silent night, more accelerated than the rhythm of our breaths.

“Blackstein?” My lips curve against his, the kiss broken with a smile. “Was this planned? Is this your version of a rain kiss, like the ones from your fairy tales?”

“What can I say? I’m a romantic. I have an in with the universe.”

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