Page 30 of Complete Me

Me: man pouting emoji

Kaino: Don’t be a brat or I’ll spank you

Me: Promises promises wink emoji

Kaino: Be careful what you wish for

A shiver of anticipation ripples down my spine. I’ve never been into pain play, but something about Kaino in disciplinarian mode is arousing.

Me: If you only knew

Kaino: Oh really? We’ll have to talk

Me: Over dinner

Kaino: It’s a plan

I set down my phone and rub my temple, unsure what this back and forth with Kaino is. We’re definitely leaning into the kinky side of things, which I’ve never been into before. But something about them makes me want to act out, push things a little more than I typically do. And that same part desperately wants them to do something about it. I’m just not sure what. Yet.

12

Kaino

Odd though it may be, given my Finnish heritage, Mediterranean cuisine is my comfort food. Give me all the wine, cheese, olives, and bread, and I’m happy. Throw in some baklava, and I’m in heaven. And with my stress about tonight’s expected topics of conversation, I opt for at least this one guaranteed pleasant experience. Holding the restaurant door open for Xander, I wave him inside, give my name, and we follow the employee to a table. We’re immediately served hummus and pita, and I sigh happily as the creamy, garlicky goodness hits my tongue.

Xander’s eyes dart around the room, taking in the terra cotta colored walls and tiled mosaics. The low lighting is cozy but not so dark that we can’t see the beautiful decor. “This is lovely. It’s comfortable. Homey in an unexpected way.”

“It’s not upscale and flashy, which I like, and the menu is somewhat limited, but it’s all delicious.”

“No coconut?” Xander winks at me, and warmth settles in my chest. It’s very sweet that he remembers my allergy and is concerned enough to mention it.

“Not here, anyway. There are some Mediterranean recipes that have coconut in them, but none of those are on the menu.” We look over the offerings and quickly place our orders. Once the server leaves us with two lovely tulip glasses of steaming tea, it’s time to talk. “So, I promised you an explanation.”

“Explanation about what?” Xander’s confusion is expected. Our conversation about my aversion to touch was several weeks ago. In my haste to address the topic tonight, I’ve done a poor job segueing into it.

“My dislike of touch. At least from those I’m not close with.”

He frowns. “You don’t owe me an explanation. I’m absolutely willing to listen to whatever you’d like to share, but I respect that you don’t like touch, and that’s enough for me.”

He’s indicated as much before, through actions and acceptance, but hearing the words relieves some of the tension I’ve been holding. “I appreciate that. Thank you. But over the past several weeks, we’ve become friends, and as such, I believe it’s important for you to know.” When Xander’s brows draw down, and his eyes fill with worry, I realize I’m painting a dire and inaccurate picture. “It’s nothing horrible. There’s no past trauma, though that’s a very common reason some people are touch averse. But in my situation, it’s most likely hereditary. And a bit environmental. My mother was the same.”

Xander frowns. “Was?”

I nod. “Both she and my father passed several years ago. I was a late in life baby. Unexpected, actually. They’d given up trying and were both in their early fifties when I came along. My father died of a heart attack about five years ago, and my mother died from anaphylaxis not long after. She had a severe allergy to bee stings.”

It’s not difficult to put those puzzle pieces together, and understanding lights his eyes. “She was stung?”

I nod. “She didn’t have her EpiPen with her and wouldn’t let the paramedics near her. By the time they were able to administer the epinephrine, it was too late.” Xander looks stricken, and I try to comfort him. “I wish it had been different, but it’s what finally motivated me to deal with my own anxiety surrounding touch. I’m much better than I was.”

“How does that work? Is it a sensitization thing? You let people touch you and gradually get used to it?”

I shrug. “In a way. I experience anxiety when imagining touch from strangers. Actual touch from someone I don’t know feels like sandpaper on exposed nerves. But as I get to know someone, and trust grows, the anxiety decreases.”

“Which is why you can let Bjorn touch you.”

I nod again. “We have a history. A positive one. And he’s never done anything to make me question that.”

Xander sobers. “When you were in the hospital room with Bjorn, you didn’t touch him. Is that because you hadn’t seen him in a while, or was it something else?”

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