Page 19 of When it Sizzles

“Hozier and Tori Amos go well together,” I say, letting my hands drop to take hers again, relieved to feel that her fingers are much warmer than they felt before.

“They do,” she agrees. “They’re both so unique and intense and…brave.”

I nod. “They feel it all and they feel it hard.”

Her eyes widen. “Yes. Exactly! I used to think that if I felt half as much as Tori Amos felt in a day, I wouldn’t survive past ten a.m. I loved hearing her sing about feelings, but I wasn’t a fan of feeling them myself. I intuitively sensed that if I gave them an inch, they’d take a mile. That if I let my curiosity about that part of life run wild, it might…” She winces and gives a little shake of her head. “Never mind. I’m being melodramatic.”

“No, please, I—” I break off, waiting until the captain has finished announcing that we’ve reached cruising altitude and thanking us for our business to add, “Please tell me. Don’t ever feel like you have to hold back with me. I want to know everything about you. Truly.”

She chews her bottom lip for a moment before apparently deciding to trust me. “I thought if I indulged my curiosity about human emotion, it might…damage me. Mentally. I’ve always prided myself on being analytical and logical, but there’s nothing logical about the way people behave. Trying to understand why people feel what they feel and what drives them to feel that way…” Her brow furrows. “There’s so much pain and suffering in the world, so much pointless, senseless loss, so many broken people that would have led beautiful lives if they’d received one solitary drop of kindness instead of injustice and cruelty, over and over again. There’s no logic to any of it, no rhyme or reason or pattern that makes any sense. I knew if I let myself get too close to all that, it would change the way I think forever and…probably not in a good way.” She flashes a tight smile. “Not in a way that would make me a good data analyst or statistician anyway.”

I tip my head closer to hers, even more drawn to her than I was before. “I get it. Believe me, I do. It’s why I have to hold my emotions at a distance at work sometimes. If I didn’t, seeing children suffering from diseases I can’t cure, or being raised by people I know aren’t giving them the love and compassion they deserve…it would grind my heart into hamburger meat. Sometimes, it’s okay not to dive all the way down the rabbit hole after our curiosity. There’s only so much the human mind can handle. Even a brain as big and beautiful as yours.”

Hope flickers in her gaze as her hand drifts to squeeze my bicep below the sleeve of my shirt. “I like your brain, too. So much.” She smiles, an amused grin I don’t understand until she adds, “You flexed when I touched you.”

Embarrassed to realize she’s right, I laugh as I relax my bicep. “Sorry. Primitive mating response. I like to think I’m more evolved than that, but…”

She laughs and squeezes my arm again. “Don’t apologize. I like it. My primitive mating response likes your primitive mating response.”

I lean closer again, drawn to her lips like the air conditioning after a long run in the summer heat. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she whispers, angling her head to one side. “Thanks for talking me down from the ledge.”

“You’re welcome,” I murmur, my lips brushing hers with the words, making me ache.

But before I can kiss her, she says, “But you still haven’t told me how old you are. I don’t remember from when I was little. I just remember that you were so much older, you seemed like a grown-up.”

“Thirty-five,” I say, curling my hand around her thigh, wishing we were alone in one of those privacy pods they have on some overseas flights. I’ve never had any urge to join the mile high club, but I’m desperate to touch her, to give her pleasure, to show her in the most visceral way that she can trust me to take care of her. “You’re twenty-seven, right? About the same age as my brother?”

She shakes her head, sending her lips skimming back and forth over mine, making my blood pump faster. “No. He’s three years older.”

I pull back far enough to pull her face into focus. “What? So, you’re…twenty-four?”

She nods. “I am. That’s part of what made it so weird that Petey was the one constantly being disgusting in the sandbox. He was old enough that he really should have known better.”

I blink, my thoughts racing as I assimilate this new information. “So, we have an eleven-year age gap.” I exhale, not liking the guilty feeling swelling in my chest.

“We do,” she says, her gaze dropping to my hand as I slide it from her thigh. “Does that bother you?”

“A little,” I confess. “I’ve always dated women close to my own age. Or older. I wouldn’t want you to think I was…I don’t know, fetishizing your youth or taking advantage of?—”

She laughs, easing some of my worry. “Oh, I wouldn’t. I don’t. I’m not worried about that. I’m just…” She shrugs, glancing up at the flight attendant moving down the aisle toward us. “An age gap can make certain decisions more urgent than they might normally be. Like, kids, for example. If you want them, you’d probably want them pretty soon, right?”

I start to answer, but the flight attendant arrives beside us, smiling as she asks us if we’d prefer chicken or beef for our lunch. We both ask for chicken and club soda, waiting until she departs to return to our conversation.

“I would like kids, but I’m happy to wait,” I say. “I wouldn’t want to rush a big decision like that. And I intend on staying fit enough to play with my kids well into my fifties, so…”

“What if I can’t have children?” she asks. “I mean, most of the McGuire women are alarmingly fertile, but I could be the exception. Would you be open to adoption? Because I don’t think fertility treatments are for me. It just doesn’t feel like the right choice for me, personally, when there are so many kids who need parents.”

I nod. “Yeah, that sounds good to me.” My lips curve as I confess, “I mean, I can’t deny that I like the idea of a little girl or boy with your big blue eyes, but if we ran into fertility issues, I’m absolutely open to adoption.”

“Looks like we’re on the same page then, Dr. Sinclair.” She bites her bottom lip, trapping a grin that pops through a moment later. “We literally met last night, Connor James Sinclair, and today we’re talking about kids and running off to get married. Our parents are going to lose their minds when they find out. Are we insane?”

“Do you feel insane?” I ask.

She hesitates only a moment before slowly shaking her head. “No, I don’t. But we should probably figure out how we’re going to move forward. I’m assuming you want me to move with you to wherever you’re going?” She frowns. “Where are you going, by the way? You never said.”

“Boston,” I say, relieved when happiness flares in her eyes. “You like Boston?”

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