Page 58 of Deep In Love
“Do you really think—”
Her eyes snap to mine, mildly panicked, so I amend my statement. “We can make rules.”
Structure. Rules. Routine. Charlie relies on these things to make life less daunting. While she worships Charles Darwin and hiswork on evolution and change, she is not a fan of it in her own life. I’ve seen what happens when she’s faced with abrupt change; she shuts down.
Our relationship has evolved at a glacial pace, and this trip is akin to rapid climate change.
I snag one of her pocket notebooks—the ones she carries with her everywhere—and flip to a clean page.
“Rule number one,” I say, moving to sit beside her. “No more pillow wall.” I want to sleep right beside her, hold her in my arms. “I am Arnold Schwarzenegger, and I am demanding the wall come down.”
Charlie giggles and the sound strikes my solar plexus like a rogue lightning bolt. She steals the notebook.
“Rule number two: No rationing my chocolate intake.”
She’s scribbling it down with a victorious grin when I ask, “What does that have to do with…our situation?”
I don’t know what to call this, don’t know what word to use that won’t freak Charlie out.
“Everything, Mateo.” She clicks her tongue. “We’ll never survive dating if you’re rationing my treats.”
She doesn’t notice her verbiage, but the words stick, and I’m biting back a goofy, boyish grin.
Charlie and I are dating!
I can’t wait to tell my abuela.
“Rule number three,” she continues. “No displays of affection in public. No kissing. No touching.”
“I object to that rule.”
A lot. I object to rule number three emphatically.
“This is a work trip. I am overruling your objection.”
I chuff, but she nervously meets my gaze. “We can kiss…if no one isaround.”
She says it like it’s a question, rather than a fact, and I take the notebook from her hand and fling it across the room, stealing a kiss.
She yelps when I drag her against my chest.
“Sealed the deal with a kiss,” I murmur, my grin so grand it could be seen from the International Space Station.
She peers at me, stunned, before she whispers, “Do it again.”
I lean in, offering a quick kiss, nothing more than a peck, but she sighs, and it’s the softest sound I’ve ever heard from Charlie. Lots of huffing and puffing, but nothing as intimate as the sigh she releases now.
“Again,” she demands, and she receives another barely there kiss. Her voice lowers to a hesitant whisper while she asks, “Why were you mad at me?”
“I wasn’t mad at you, bruja. I was jealous.”
“Oh.” She tries to school her features, but her nose twitches and the apples of her cheeks flush. It pleases her to know I was jealous, even if she’s trying to hide it. She dips out of my hold, moving her half-packed bag back to its corner and returning her trinkets and bobbles to the desk, fiddling with the placement.
I lean back on my palms, content to watch her exist.
“Where were you going to go?” I ask.
“Sofía’s room, and if she said no, I was going to claim a deck chair.”
