Page 75 of Building What's Meant to Be

“You have a look on your face,” she says.

She’s got that right. I can’t tear my gaze from her.

“I just witnessed the meaning of life and realized something important.”

“Do you mean you witnessed the miracle of life?

“That too.” I turn to Tinsley and our knees bump. Taking her hands in mine, I say, “I know what I want. You. Us. A family.”

Her lips part slightly, but she doesn’t say anything. Instead, her big brown eyes search mine.

When she still doesn’t reply, I say, “I’ll take a smoosh.”

Our lips collide and a smoosh quickly turns into a smooch which becomes a kiss. A long kiss where I pour my love into her. Love I want her to receive with open arms. Love that I didn’t know existed never mind the kind that I’d ever be lucky enough to feel.

I caress her jaw, rub the soft spot by her ear, and trace the nape of her neck with my rough fingers. I want to make every part of Tinsley mine, today, tomorrow, always. My heart races toward her. My pulse barely keeps up as the kiss deepens on this late spring morning when I finally have met my match.

When we part, Tinsley’s gaze searches mine. I’ve found what I’m looking for. I hope she has too. My chest swells and my stomach tumbles as I take her hand and kiss the back of it, an anchor as I prepare to take a risk.

“Tinsley, life is too short to live it lukewarm. I realize I have big, hot feelings for you.” I try not to smirk. “I’m wondering if you’d like to make this more official? I haven’t asked anyone this since high school, but I’m wondering if you’d like to be my girlfriend?”

“Your girlfriend?” she repeats as if it’s a foreign word or she expected me to say something else.

Doubt slinks in as seconds drip like a leaky faucet between us, taking my mojo with it. Then Tinsley leaps toward me, throwing her arms around my neck, clobbering me. She pulls back and then grips my cheeks with her hands before smooshing me again. “Yes, yes, I’d love to be your girlfriend.”

“Really?”

“Really. Why do you seem so surprised?”

“For a second there, I wasn’t sure—”

Tinsley drops back and looks at her hands. “Believe it or not no one, not even in high school, ever officially asked me out.”

I shake my head. “Nope. I don’t believe that. I’ve seen your social media. You’ve, uh, had plenty of boyfriends.” And I’d like to knock out every single one of them. Then again, if they’d been half the gentleman she deserves, she wouldn’t be available.

“No, Aiden. No one ever officially asked me out like that. Sure, we’d go on dates and that would sometimes last for a few weeks or months, but not one of them ever said what you just did.”

“Really?” I repeat with a squint.

“Yes, really. Why is that so hard to believe?”

I wave my hand from her head to her toes. “Because you’re you.”

“Me with the big head and feet?”

“You don’t have a big head.”

“It’s hidden behind all my hair.”

Tinsley goes on to cite several more things she’s self-conscious about. I shoot down each one and follow it with a smoosh. Despite the silly name, I’ve come to understand the smoosh is a caress, a constant kiss, and one that remains there long after our lips part.

At last, she goes quiet, having exhausted her list.

“And now, I’m going to tell you all the things I love about you.” My list is twice as long. When I’m done, I wrap my arm around her and say, “Since neither one of us has officially done this before, we can call ourselves a work in progress.”

“And a baker in progress,” she adds.

“And a beekeeper.”

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