Page 77 of Time After Time
He hummed, his fingers still brushing lightly against my skin. “In general?”
I shook my head, biting my lower lip, and glanced up at him. “Weddings.” His eyes widened, and I saw surprise flicker across his face, a flush spreading over mine. “Remember that—” Before I could finish, he nodded, his curls bouncing with the movement. His gaze grew deeper, not just reflecting on the wedding we’d seen but on our first kiss and that night in the hotel room that had brought us here. “But mostly, I remember the date we prepared for Mr. and Mrs. Marley. It looked so magical, so beautiful. The expressions on their faces...” I recalled the happiness, the longing, and the way they looked at each other as if they were seeing each other anew, just as they probably had the first time. “They smiled so much their eyes teared up, and their hands were shaking—but in a good way. I want to make those emotions bloom.”
“And you will.”
“You think I can do it?”
“Iknowyou can do it. There’s a difference there.” He lowered his face, his lips brushing against mine before pressing several tender kisses. I pushed the laptop away, my focus narrowing solely on him. As he leaned back, I moved with him, our bodies melding together. The kiss deepened, and we stayed locked in that embrace until, gradually, he pulled back, breaking the moment. “Have you told your dad?”
The sigh that escaped me seemed to affect him, and he inhaled sharply at the same moment. “Not yet. While I was setting everything up for the festival, I considered event planning, but?—”
“You were trying to convince yourself it wasn’t for you.”
I nodded, not surprised that he knew what my mental process had been like. I’d tried to tell myself my excitement was just about the novelty of the project, a chance to play a key role in something. But deep down, comparing that to the career paths my dad suggested, I realised the fear of letting him—and myself—down felt much heavier than the thrill of following my passion.
“I don’t want to make you anxious, but I think you should talk to him as soon as possible.”
“I will,” I said, taking a deep breath. “I’m telling them today.” I wanted them to see the magic I’d created for the festival. The way everything looked, and how I’d managed all the interactions, communications, and processes for the decorations on my own. I needed to show them that this passion was more than just talk; that I could make it happen. “At the festival.”
I knew they’d be there—nobody in town missed the annual summer festival. It was a tradition that brought all of us even closer, and I was certain my parents would take it more seriously knowing I was behind it.
I wasn’t sure whether I was more nervous about that or what came after the festival. We’d leave a bit earlier this year to have dinner at the Ventura’s house, which wasn’t unusual, but this time it felt different. Sebastian was leaving in a few days, and that added a new layer of stress to everything.
I swallowed hard, struggling against the lump in my throat at the thought of being apart from him.
“I’ll be there with you if you need me,” Sebastian said. “Or close by.”
I wanted him near, whether for support or to share the outcome with him immediately. Yet, I knew this was something I had to face on my own.
After giving him one last kiss, I stood up from his bed, adjusting my dress.
“You’re leaving?” he asked, dramatically pouting.
Leaning over, I placed a soft peck on his mouth. “I need to shower and change before the festival starts.” He responded with a hum, initiating another kiss as he glanced at the clock on his wall. The festival would start at 7 p.m., leaving me just an hour and a half to get ready.
“What are you going to wear?” he asked, a curious note in his voice. I furrowed my eyebrows, puzzled by the question. “Want to match.”
“If I told you which dress, you wouldn’t know which one I’m talking about. I have a lot of dresses.”
“I remember every dress of yours. Even the day and moment in which you wore them. Try me.”
My eyes widened, and a smile slipped out before I could stop it. The idea of us coordinating outfits sounded really cute, so I let myself enjoy the thought.
“I bought a new dress the other day,” I replied. His eyes went wide, and he sank back against his headboard with a mock groan, his shoulders slumping in exaggerated disappointment.
“You want to kill me?” His groan resonated through me, sending a shiver from my core to my fingertips. The sound vibrated through every part of my body, making me tremble and lose grip on my senses. “You, in dresses, Gen…” He took a deep breath, throwing his head back and hitting it against the headboard with a thud that made me wince and step forward. He seemed oblivious to the impact, bringing his hand to his face and rubbing his eyes with frustration. “It drives me crazy. I just want to pull you close and touch you.” He said this without looking at me, which was a relief because I could feel my body reacting—my thighs rubbing together and my fingers fidgeting as heat flushed through me, making the fan on the ceiling seem useless. When he finally met my gaze, I struggled to control my reaction, tornbetween stopping the way my body was responding and letting it go.
“It’s long, just above my ankles, and it’s a soft, pale pink,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. He groaned in response, shifting on the bed until he reached the edge, extending his hand toward me. I moved closer, finding a spot between his legs. His hand settled on the back of my thigh, his fingertips grazing the skin and sending another shiver through me. I bit my lower lip, feeling the goosebumps rise. “There’s more to it,” I added, my voice barely above a whisper.
“What more?” he asked, leaning in closer and resting his chin on my abdomen. His gaze remained fixed on me as his hand slowly explored further.
“The fabric on the legs it’s slightly transparent.”
He shut his eyes so tightly that I was sure his vision would be blurry when he opened them. Wrinkles formed around his eyes from the intensiveness of his expression, as if closing them so hard could somehow erase the image of the dress from his mind and keep him from imagining it.
“You really want to kill me, Gen.” When he finally opened his eyes, he caught the pleased grin on my face. “Do I have anything in that colour?”
Pursing my lips, I mentally shifted through his wardrobe, trying to recall if he had anything pink that might match the shade of my dress. “You do,” I said, a specific memory coming to mind. He once wore a light pink shirt that wasn’t exactly the same but was quite similar during his birthday last year. “The lightest pink shirt you have—the one without any logo or anything.”
