Page 63 of Look, Don't Touch

He has stopped and is turned toward me. No matter how beautiful he is, I can’t seem to tear my eyes from the magic around me. My gaze jumps from one thing to the next in absolute awe.

“It looks like the Haupt Conservatory.” The arch of the metal and glass, the curve of the domed roof, and the abundance of plant life is beyond stunning.

“Lord & Burnham, who designed the conservatory, also designed this. It was my father’s favorite place in the world. He said it was heaven on earth.”

“I don’t believe in heaven or hell, but if I did, this would be heaven.” I finally move off the two large steps onto the stone path and closer to the greenery. He motions for me to look around, and I do, wandering like a kid who’s found Santa’s workshop and didn’t even know it existed.

“How do you feel about this space?”

“As a kid, I loved it. Up until a couple of weeks ago, it was desolate, unloved, and unkept for a long time.”

“It’s too amazing of a spot to let it go to waste.” I can’t seem to wipe the smile off my face and that’s seldom a problem. “What made you decide to invest in it?” Because this was a major investment. Millions, I’m sure. Hell, he could charge admission and people would pay for a bit of time in this magical oasis.

He doesn’t answer.

I turn and find him staring at me. “Well?”

“I’m not sure you’d like the truth of it.”

I have no idea why I would care about the truth of it. “Try me.”

“Your eyes.”

The things in question go wide. “What about them?”

“They’re so green. They reminded me of this place where I used to feel comfortable, a place I used to love.” He points at the borders and paths off the main covered in vibrant green grass. “I would tuck there or sprawl out to do my homework.”

Warmth that has nothing to do with the moist heat of the greenhouse blooms in my chest. It’s the kindest thing anyone has ever said to me. If I dwell on it too much, I’ll hyperventilate and pass out on the green grass. Grass that reminds him of comfort and my eyes.

“You should meditate here.”

He gives me a small smile, a kind of thank you for not calling him out and not running away screaming. “I don’t know how.”

I walk to him and stop with just a foot between us.

It’s warmer here.

“Place one hand on your belly, and the other over your heart.” I show him by centering my hands over my belly and heart. “Press firmly enough that you can feel your heartbeat in your chest and the air moving your belly.”

He complies.

“Good, very good. You can start with your eyes open if that’s most comfortable for you. For me, usually, that’s too vulnerable, and I prefer to close mine. Everyone is different.” I pull a deep breath through my nose, hold it for a five count, and release it. “Now, like I just did, breathe deeply in through your nose for a five count, then exhale through your mouth for a five count.”

His breath filters out over my neck and chest. My nipples perk, damn them. Luckily, they’re hidden behind my jacket. “Now, wiggle your toes and shake your hips.”

His expression is skeptical.

“You don’t have to shake like a belly dancer. Just a little wiggle to make you feel the here and now. Here on the ground. Here in the moment. Nothing else matters right now, except the breath pushing at your hands or pulling them back in toward your body.” I show him with a little shake of my toes, a wiggle of my hips, and several breath cycles.

He falls in line. After my fifth breath, his shoulders sink, and the divot between his brows smooths.

“If thoughts intrude, breathe them out. If feelings rise up, acknowledge them, and then set them to the side for later. If things get dark, wiggle those toes, and remember the here and now. The light. The warmth. The green.”

He looks at me with those deep, dark eyes for a while. Then slowly, his gaze shifts over my head and away somewhere. I focus on his lapels, afraid to get stuck on his mouth, his throat, or his hands.

My heartbeat speeds, and I’m not meditating at all. I’m too caught up in the here and now. In him and his scent. The size and depth of him.

The longer I stand here, the more my fingers itch to touch him. Not just touch him, either. The impulse to grab him and pull him close to my body is overwhelming. The impulse to grab him and pull him into me and bury him deep in my soul is more shocking than finding this magic portal behind his home.

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