Page 44 of Pause

He speaks quietly in my ear. “This is the best way to leave the window streak-free. Just takes a little practice.”

“Okay.” I’m whispering. Why am I whispering?

“The wordslet me show you howare kind of a joke in our family,” Slade says softly.

I love being included in a family joke. Our hands work together slowly—much slower than necessary—fanning our way down the glass.

“Really?” Why can’t I stop whispering?

“We all got bottled root beer one night as a special treat. You know, the kind with glass bottles and a bottle cap? It seemed like a big deal when I was a kid. I guess they were shaken a little too much as we carried them home in a bag. I opened mine and it overflowed, the root beer spilling all over the table, a big foamy mess.”

He slows our hands as the squeegee glides over the glass. It gleams back at us, streak-free.

“Then Dex opened his, and the same thing happened. Root beer everywhere. My dad said, ‘Let me show you how.’ He was sure he could open his root beer without it exploding. We all waited, watching with anticipation, hoping to see the secret of how to open the bottle without making the root beer erupt.”

Slade sprays the other window and his hand guides mine over the glass, repeating the fanning motion over and over.

“My dad opened his root beer, and his overflowed and went everywhere too. We all busted out laughing, including my father. His cockylet me show you howdidn’t work out so well. Those words have been a standing joke in our family ever since.”

We reach the bottom of the window. It looks beautiful. I can see our reflection, our heads close together, his body almost touching mine. Beyond the glass is a perfect view of the ocean. I lower my hand, and his lowers with mine. He doesn’t let go.

I think I’m being pursued.

I drop the squeegee. The sound of it hitting the floor feels loud in the quiet room. The air is heavy with anticipation. Slade’s other hand covers my other hand. My chest rises and falls with exaggerated breaths.

Slowly, he trails his hands up my arms and then down again. I can’t tell Kira nothing has happened between us anymore. This is something. We’ve been headed this way all along, and I think we both knew it.

I close my eyes, enjoying the simple touch of his fingers on my arms.

I’m grateful for touch.

The thought rushes through my mind, surprising me. At this moment, touch seems like the most amazing thing ever. How have I never felt thankful for it?

I turn around and face Slade. He clasps my hands in his again. I lift my head up until our eyes connect, my heart beating so fast I’m sure he can see it pounding through my shirt.

Serious Slade is back. The one who stares into my eyes and is in need of an entire fire station. It’s obvious he doesn’t take relationships lightly. This is not a silly little dalliance to him. He’s not goofing around with dumb flirty comments or treating this like a game.

“Do you want this to happen, Marin?” he whispers. “If you’re not ready…”

I answer his question with the introspection it deserves. “You’ve chased away my thoughts of…” I don’t want to say his name. He has no right to be here. “…anyone else. The only man I can think of is you. You own my thoughts.”

Slade blinks as though his eyelids are heavy.

“I’m ready and…” Here comes the word I hate—the four-letter word that’s actually seven—but it needs to be said. “…I’m not on the rebound. I don’t want a fling to forget about my life. That’s not the type of relationship I’m looking for.”

His eyebrows rise. I think I surprised him. He takes a deep breath, savoring the moment. He doesn’t jump in like an eager schoolboy. He takes his time. Slowly, he releases my hands, letting his hands drift up my arms until they reach my shoulders. His hands continue their journey until he’s cupping my face.

His eyes look as though two matches have been struck and lit inside them. The fire inside him is burning out of control. I want to know what it feels like to have that fire unleashed on me.

I’m grateful for fire.

“You’re a beautiful person, Marin. Inside and out. I could feel it the first moment I met you,” he whispers, his lips close to mine. It appears neither of us has the ability to speak normally. “I love the way you love. I hated your heartbreak, but it taught me so much about you. When you love, you love deeply. I want someone to love me like that.”

In my mind, I’m raising my hand, yelling, “Me. Me. Oh please, me! Choose me!” I tell my imagination to shut up. I’m enjoying real life right now.

He hesitates, giving me time to respond, but I couldn’t say a word if my life depended on it.

His eyes search, memorizing my face. “From the first second I met you, I saw your vulnerability. You didn’t hide it. I loved that about you. You were so open and honest about your feelings. I could feel your emotions as if they were my own. I actually hurt for you. That’s never happened to me before. I wanted to take away your pain. I wanted to be the one to put a smile on your face. I wanted to know what it would be like to be loved by you.”

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