Page 39 of Afterglow
“See? I told you.”
“Follow me.” Stephen lets us through the security turnstile and guides us to the elevators.
After a silent ride to the top floor, he uses a master key to open the penthouse.
“Thank you, Stephen!” Behraz sings, waving him off at the elevator. She then turns to me. “Flower picking time.”
I’m astounded by how easy it was for her to convince him to let us up. Behraz could charm the pants off just about anyone, while I’m about as exciting and charming as a cabbage.
“Over here, Fletcher!” Big swooping motions beckon me to the outdoor space. I haven’t been here for a while. Or maybe not this section.
Barefoot, she circles the large, raised beds that create a square perimeter around the fire pit and patio seating. Flowers in every color, shape, and height grow from them amongst tall grasses. Bea pokes around in a storage container and pulls out pruning shears and a pair of small scissors. “Here.” She hands me the scissors. “How about you make me a bouquet, and I make you one?”
I agree. “What about the hand holding?”
She laughs, and it’s the most glorious sound. “That happensafterwe pick flowers and make bouquets.”
Three flowers come together in my grip. “Does this count as a bouquet?”
“It’s been, like, two minutes.”
I reek of impatience and desperation, and I don’t care if she knows it. I want to hold her hand, as quickly and for as long as possible. I choose flowers that remind me of her. They’re various shades of pink: the rosiness of her cheeks, her cherry blossom lips. “Alright, I think I’m done.” I present the bouquet to her from behind my back. “What do you think?”
“How cute! I love them.” Behraz hugs them to her chest. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“And here are yours,” she offers.
It’s a much better-looking bunch than mine. “Gorgeous.”
For a second, she has me going, thinking she’s walking toward me, but she backpedals and returns with a long hose. “We do have to water these, though. Gabe would be so sad if they didn’t make it through July.”
We alternate soaking the planters and each other’s feet. The windaccidentallycarried the spray when Behraz had control of the hose more than a few times.
“Okay, that’s enough,” I conclude. She squeals in delight as I wrangle the hose and spray nozzle from her grasp. “Can I hold your hand now?”
“Since you asked so nicely…” Her eyes glint with mischief. “Yes.”
“Finally,” I whisper. She holds them in front of her, and both sets of my fingers land on her wrists, savoring the climb up her palm and pushing between the gaps until they interlock. And all’s right with the world.
“Happy now?” Behraz lifts her chin to glance up at me.
“Yes, very. I’ve never held anyone’s hand like this.”
“What?” she says through a giggle.
“I haven’t.”
A smirk follows the roll of her eyes. “Next, you’ll say that you’ve never been kissed.”
There’s a lull. It breaks with her gasp. “I haven’t,” I admit.
Bea’s mouth, the pretty thing, drops open cartoonishly, and it’s the closest I’ve ever gotten to stealing a kiss.
“You’ve never been kissed? What about…?” She doesn’t finish the question before I deny with a shake of my head. Because I know what she means to ask, and it’s true.
Yep. I, Fletcher Donovan, am a virgin.
