Page 117 of Hello Stranger

In my panic, I started yammering: “Anybody but Parker, okay? I wholeheartedly endorse any and all sexual escapades with literally any resident of this building—even the snake lady—just not Parker—okay?—because she really—”

But Joe didn’t want to talk about Parker.

Right then he reached for my painting smock, hooked his fingers through the apron tie, and tugged me closer to him. I stepped nearer, into the cove between his thighs, and then I felt his palms settle on my hips.

There was that cedar and juniper smell again.

“It’s not your evil stepsister,” Joe said.

I shook my head, likeIt’s not?

He pulled me a little closer. “And it’s not the snake lady, either.”

I hadn’t really thought it would be. But I felt a frisson of relief, anyway.

Joe leaned in a bit more. Sitting on the stool, he was just the same height as me. Our faces were just inches from each other. “Do you want me to tell you who it is?” he asked.

I nodded, watching his mouth like I was in a trance.

Finally he said, “It’s you.”

I’d hoped he would say that.

But just to double-check: “It’s me?”

The world had been so hard to read lately. It had somehow seemed just as possible that he might say Hazel from the coffee shop.

But it was me.

And so, when he nodded, I just said, “It’s you, too.”

It’s true, I couldn’t see his face right then. Not in the traditional way. Not in the way I was used to.

But as I looked at the pieces of it—the outline of his lips, the dimple in his chin, the sandpapery stubble along his jaw—it felt almost like I could see him better than I would’ve otherwise. Like not seeing the big picture let me grasp the details more clearly. It wasn’t like looking into a void. It was like looking with a magnifying glass. Like being closer than close.

That mouth, for example, I could definitely see. Plump and firm and practically demanding to be kissed. But for real this time.

All I had to do now was sway forward. It would be so easy to match my mouth to his. To claim him for myself like that.

Wasn’t that what kisses were for, after all? To light a little spark in someone else? A spark that would burn for you?

I wanted some part of Joe to burn for me.

And I guess he wanted that back.

I edged forward.

But then I hit that force field of hesitation again. I paused right there, my mouth just an inch from his.

And then, once again, Joe helped.

His arm skimmed up my back, and his hand found its way intomy hair, and then he cupped the back of my neck with his palm and pulled me to him—shattering that force field like a glass door at a coffee shop.

As soon as my mouth touched his, he tightened his other arm around me, and I let my arms wrap themselves around his neck.

For a minute, the warm, blissful shock of it was enough.

The electric softness of his mouth. The comfort of being pressed against him. The relief of giving in to all that longing. The crazy joy of being connected like that at last. Of wanting someone so badly—and being wanted back. Of touching. Of feeling good and happy and connected, and like there was so much to look forward to.

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