Page 52 of The Now in Forever
I smile, butterflies fluttering erratically in my chest.
Ed grabs my hand. “Let’s go meet some people.”
He leads me through the mansion. We explore the rooms, much of them with placards explaining what’s original to the house. Along the way, we meet two agents, three editors, and four authors. One agent asks about my book, and I tell her the basic premise. She leans in as I tell her and gives me her email, saying she’d love to read it when it’s finished. My smile is so big it hurts.
By the time we make it to one of the bedrooms, I feel a little dizzy. The room has a tiny bed, so small it almost looks like it’s for a child.
Ed moves through into the attached bathroom. “Whoa, look at this!”
I go in. There is a walk-in shower with a crazy number of pipes. It looks more like a torture device than a shower. “That’s intense.”
Leaning in to get a closer look at the contraption, I can feel Ed’s eyes on me. He reaches out and touches the soft fabric of my skirt. “That’s an awful lot of fabric for a very revealing dress.”
I gasp. “Is it too skimpy?”
“No,” he says quickly as he moves his hand to my waist and pulls me into him. “It’s just skimpy enough.”
His palms move up my bare back, sending shivers down my spine. He gazes into my eyes.
“Hattie, about December…”
He wants to talk about this now? In the antique bathroom of a mansion at a literary party. With his hands on me and his citrus scent wafting around us like a spell. Whatever the reason, once he tells me…there’s no going back.
One kiss. Before we talk, before he explains, I just want one kiss. As I lean in, my mind fills with flashes ofthat day,anticipating the feel of his lips before I press mine to them.
Our lips meet. His kiss is soft. It’s different than I recall—he’sdifferent. I’ve remembered and re-remembered that day so many times, playing the scene of us together over and over, like rubbing my thumb across a worry stone, softening the sharp details to a smooth vague surface. Polished and safe.
What am I doing? This man is more back and forth than a see-saw. I should push him away, but instead, I push into him. The pressure ofmy lips increases. I open my mouth, and so does he, his hand still on my bare skin. He runs his fingers up my spine, then through my hair, my scalp tingling at his touch, the sensation traveling down to my thighs. I put my hand on the taut muscles of his back, pulling myself closer to him, our bodies flush against each other, his stiff jacket almost rough against my chest through the flimsy layers of chiffon. At the contact, my body melts into a puddle of lust.
Our kiss ends, but Ed still holds me close. “Hattie…”
My heart tries to leap out of my throat and cover his mouth. What if he says something neither of us can take back? What if he was with another woman and didn’t think I deserved an explanation? What if he just forget?
“We should go.” I pull away, brushing off my dress. “Let’s find somewhere quiet to get a drink.”
At the very least, I don’t want to cry in front of all these literary professionals.
His eyes sparkle. “Okay. I know a place.”
CHAPTER 12
We catch a shuttle downtown, and Ed takes me to a tall stone and stained-glass church, with a looming bell tower.
“You need to confess?” I instantly regret my choice of words.
He shakes his head, smiling. “Come on.”
There's a small set of concrete stairs around the back, a slat wooden door at the bottom that looks older than Portland itself. Ed opens it, and the thumping sound of PJ Harvey’s “To Give You My Love” pours into the night. The bar is dark, with long wooden tables like something you might see in an episode ofGame of Thrones, two pool tables, a Medieval Times pinball machine, and a jukebox in the corner. Ed leads me to the bar, and we wait our turn. Ed orders two Pabsts.
I whisper in his ear, “Can I get a wine?”
“Not a good idea here unless you’re a fan of Carlo Rossi.”
“A whiskey, then.”
Ed nods and changes my order.
We take our drinks to the corner of one of the long tables. A small candle in a red glass holder flickers between us, and the question hangs in the air like a thought bubble in a graphic novel.Where were you that night? Why didn’t you meet me?
