Page 24 of The Words of Us

Evie’s cheeks flush, and for a moment, she looks almost shy. “That’s really nice to hear. I’ve been thinking a lot today about why I do this, why I keep this place going. And it’s because of moments like this. People like you.”

We stand there, the night wrapping around us like a warm blanket, the distant sounds of the bookstore filtering through the door. There is so much I want to say, but I don’t know how to put it into words. All I know is that I want more of this—more nights like tonight, more moments with Evie, more of the feeling that has been building since the moment I walked into the bookstore that first time.

“So, what’s next?” Evie asks, her voice soft and tentative, like she’s testing the waters of whatever is happening between us.

I think about it, about the uncertainty of the future, the weight of the past, and the possibility of something new. I reach for her hand, linking my fingers with hers, and give it a gentle squeeze.

“I don’t know,” I say honestly. “But I’m here for it. Whatever it is.”

Evie smiles, her eyes bright with unspoken promise. “Yeah. Me too.”

And as we stand there under the soft glow of the streetlights with the bookstore’s muffled sounds of poetry and music behind us, I know that this is where I’m supposed to be.

The air between us feels charged, heavy with unspoken words and the quiet rhythm of our breaths mingling in the cool night. Evie’s hand is still in mine, warm and reassuring, grounding me in the moment. The way her fingers tightens slightly around mine sends a spark of something hot and electric through me, something I’ve been trying to ignore but can no longer deny.

Her eyes search mine, full of something deep and unguarded that makes my heart beat faster. There’s a softness there, a quiet intensity that pulls me in. For a moment, neither of us speak, the space between us thick with anticipation, with the weight of everything unsaid.

Evie takes a small step closer, the movement slow, deliberate, like she is giving me every chance to pull away. But I don’t. I can’t. I am rooted to the spot, caught in the pull of her presence, the nearness of her. The soft glow of the streetlights play over her features, casting delicate shadows on her skin, and I am suddenly overwhelmed by how close she is, by the quiet, intimate moment we’ve found ourselves in.

Her free hand lifts, brushing a stray lock of hair away from my face, and I feel a shiver run through me at the lightness of her touch. She lingers there, her fingers tracing the line of myjaw, her thumb brushing the corner of my mouth in a gesture so tender it makes my breath hitch.

“I’ve been wanting to do this all night,” she murmurs, her voice barely more than a whisper, thick with the vulnerability of the moment. Evie’s eyes flickers with something raw and unguarded, and in that heartbeat, she moves closer, her lips brushing mine in the gentlest, softest kiss. It’s tentative at first, a careful exploration, as if she is feeling out the edges of something fragile. Her lips are warm and soft, and she tastes faintly of the wine we’ve been drinking, sweet and a little bold.

The kiss deepens slowly, and I feel everything else slip away—the noise from the bookstore, the hum of the city beyond, even the lingering doubts that has haunted me earlier. All that matters is this—the slow, deliberate press of her lips against mine, the way she moves with a careful, deliberate hunger that sends warmth pooling in my chest.

Evie’s hand slides up, cupping the back of my neck, her fingers threading through my hair as she pulls me closer. I sink into her touch, my own hands finding their way to her waist, feeling the soft curve of her body beneath my palms. The kiss is unhurried, like we have all the time in the world, and every brush of her lips feels like a promise, a silent affirmation that this is real, that we are real.

I can feel the smile ghosting on her lips as she kisses me, a playful tease that makes my stomach flutter. She pulls back just a fraction, her forehead resting against mine, her breath mingling with my own in the small, shared space between us. My heart races and my skin tingles from the warmth of her touch, and for a moment, I just close my eyes, letting myself be held in the quiet.

Evie’s thumb traces a gentle line along my cheek, her touch tender and sure. I open my eyes, meeting her gaze, and see the soft glow of affection mixing with something deeper, somethingthat makes my pulse quicken. She leans in again, her lips brushing against mine with a slow, deliberate intensity that makes my knees feel weak.

She kisses me like she’s savoring every second, like she’s pouring every unspoken word, every hesitant feeling into the moment. It is soft but insistent, a careful blend of need and restraint, and I melt into it, my hands pulling her closer, wanting more of her, of this. Each kiss feels like a promise, a slow unveiling of everything we are too scared to say aloud.

When she finally pulls back, her breath warm against my lips, she doesn’t move far. Her lips linger near my ear, and I feel her words more than hear them, the soft, whispered promise that sends a shiver through me.

“Later, you’re mine.”

Her voice is low, tinged with a quiet possessiveness that makes my skin flush and my heart skip a beat. It’s a promise wrapped in heat, a pledge of something more to come, and it fills me with a heady, giddy anticipation.

I can’t help but smile, my forehead still pressed to hers, the moment suspended between us like a secret. There is something intoxicating about the way she said it, the quiet certainty in her voice.

“Yeah,” I whisper, my voice soft but sure. “Later.”

We stay like that for a moment longer, wrapped up in the warmth of each other, the night holding us in a tender embrace with a whispered promise of more, and the quiet, undeniable truth that I am hers, just as much as she is mine.

13

EVIE

The last guest has left, and the bookstore is finally quiet, save for the soft, lingering notes of Mr. Dupree’s guitar still hanging in the air. I lock the door behind me, the click of the latch sealing us in, wrapping Sasha and me in the intimate silence of the night. My heart is racing, a mix of nerves and excitement thrumming through me, fueled by a couple glasses of wine I’ve already had. Tonight feels different—charged with possibility—and I want to make the most of it.

I glance over at Sasha, who is standing near the shelves, running her fingers absently over the spines of books, lost in thought. How she looks in this space like she belongs here makes my breath catch. I want this night to be special, something more than just an ending to the poetry event. I want it to feel like a continuation of the last time we spent the night together in the bookstore.

I move to the small table near the stage where we’d talked earlier, where our fingers had brushed and lingered, where the unspoken tension between us had been almost palpable. The wine bottle is nearly empty, but there is just enough for twoglasses. I pour it carefully, watching the dark red liquid swirl into the glass, catching the light from the dimmed lamps above.

I set the glasses down on the table, arranging them carefully, making sure everything feels just right. My hands are steady, but inside, I am buzzing with anticipation, every nerve on edge. I reach behind the counter, pulling out the old, woven blanket we curled under before. I spread it out on the floor, turning the space into a makeshift little haven.

I look around, taking in the way the soft light touches everything—the gentle glow of the books, the flicker of candlelight I’d set on the counter, the muted shadows that stretches across the room. It is intimate, cozy, exactly how I want it to feel. My fingers trace the edges of the blanket as I smooth it out, feeling the quiet weight of the moment. I reach for a stack of poetry books I’d pulled earlier—some of my favorites, filled with verses that speak of love and longing, hope and new beginnings. I want the night to feel light, easy, but also honest, like the kind of conversation you only have when you’re two glasses deep and the rest of the world has faded away.

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