Page 106 of Can't Help Falling

“Smells good in here,” he said, stepping toward her.

She jolted under the touch he smoothed over one of her hips, but softened immediately, leaning back into him, letting her head fall back onto his shoulder as he wrapped his arms around her front.

Holding her like this just felt right. It had fond memories attached to it, considering he’d held her like this the first time he’d touched her naked body, just hours ago. But there was something about them sandwiched together like this, both of them facing forward, that made him feel allied with her. Like they were staring down the future together.

He kissed her temple, rested his chin on top of the messy pile of her hair. “Whatcha makin’?”

“Uh, it’s a kind of celebration tea.”

He knew instantly that she wasn’t telling him the whole truth. He leaned forward, over her shoulder and sniffed the pot. “Smells...sexy.”

It was true. Something about the scent was romantic, made him think of dark rooms and whispers and warm, smooth skin.

She said nothing, just turned the heat down, put a dash of something in the pot and put the lid on.

“What’s it called?” he urged her, catching a view of one pink cheek of hers and feeling beyond intrigued.

She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. And look at that, he had nervous Fin in the circle of his arms, her breasts resting on his forearm, the cradle of her head pressing into his shoulder. He suddenly felt giddy with holding her.

She turned all at once, her light eyes defiantly on his, but her cheeks still tantalizingly pink. “It’s...it’s called love tea, okay? It promotes relaxation and calm, but also celebration for when—” She mumbled the rest, but he didn’t need her to say it clearly.

He twisted a fallen strand of her hair back into her bun and finished the sentence for her. “It’s for when you’ve just made love to someone.”

She nodded tersely, her eyes on the notch between his throat and chest. “For when you’re happy about it. It sort of seals it all in.”

He jolted, as she had, when she landed one palm on his chest. He knew now that she was showing him her energy, her palm energy. But she was also messing around with his chest hair. He felt giddy and nuzzly and ridiculous.

“Some people smoke cigarettes after sex. You brew magic tea.”

She smirked up at him.

“I want a glass,” he told her.

She frowned, but he could tell that it was simply to hide her pleased smile. “It’ll be ready in a few minutes.”

“Are you hungry?” He glanced around then, realizing he had no clue what time it even was. “Jeez, your house is like a wormhole where time bends and means nothing anymore.”

“It’s 6:45 p.m.,” she told him.

He shook his head and laughed. “It’s so weird to spend time with another adult at this time of day. Well, not so much right now, but we started hanging out at like two in the afternoon. On a weekday.”

“Yeah.” She scratched at her head and made the whole mess of her hair move as one organism. Tyler felt obscenely charmed by this. “I don’t know anyone else who’s freelance.”

“Our weird schedules mean we’re going to start eating dinner at five every night.”

“At least we could benefit from the early-bird specials.”

He smiled. “I wonder how Kylie will feel about that.”

His smile faded as he considered his own question and truly did wonder how Kylie would feel about that. About all of this.

Fin, one eye on him, tilted back toward the stove and lifted the lid. “One thing at a time, Ty. Tea’s ready.”

She poured two cups of the tea, which was a surprising shade of pink. Tyler eyed it somewhat dubiously the moment her back was turned, smiling wide and innocent when she turned back. She led him into the living room, where they piled onto her couch, their limbs tangling, most of her weight on his lap. He winced and lifted and yanked one of her heels out from under his thigh. He liked how uncareful she was with him. She was womanly and graceful as she moved through the world, but get her alone and she was suddenly coltish and slightly clumsy. It felt like a secret that only he knew and he could feel himself locking it tight within him, somewhere that no one else would ever find it.

He eyed the tea. “So, do we say a prayer or something?”

“A prayer?” she asked, looking confused. “Like, bless me, father, for I have—”

He cut her off with a loud laugh. “No! And that’s not exactly a prayer. That’s what you say when you go to confess your sins. I meant, like, is there a spell we’re supposed to say?”

Now she was the one laughing and rolling her eyes. “No, Ty. The magic is in the sitting and drinking. You and me together. There’s nothing hocus-pocus about it.”

Holding her eye, he leaned forward and took a sip, readying himself not to wince against the flavor. But to his surprise, it actually tasted good. A little like taking a bite out of a flower bouquet, but there was cinnamon in there. It was warm and light and she’d made it for him. Love tea. He’d have drunk a gallon of it if she’d asked.

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