Page 69 of 2045 Clementine Lane: Catherine

I have embraced it.

Aiden

Catherine is completely quietin my arms as she thinks over what I’ve said. I try not to panic. I try to tell myself that this was a conversation that had to happen before we get too deep into whatever we’ve started becauseifshe decides she wants to go there with me, she has to meet me as my equal.

When she whispers, “I’m sorry,” it breaks my heart.

“Don’t be sorry,” I beg, growing increasingly panicked. “That’s not what this is about. I just…I want you to see yourself asIsee you.”

Needing to see her face, I unlink our fingers and turn her in my arms. Even in the moonglow, I can see that she’s crying. I don’t tell her not to cry even though it shames me to have brought her to tears. Cradling her face in both my hands, I gently swipe her cheeks with my thumbs.

With a small groan of frustration, she drops her forehead onto my chest. “I’m a wreck,” she says. “I have been for a long time.”

“You’re just figuring it out. We all are.” I raise my arms to wrap around her and desperately try to ignore the smell of her hair. She’s so small standing in front of me that my arms feel too heavy around her. I resist relaxing them completely, afraid that she’ll feel trapped by their weight.

For minutes we stand there, absorbing the feeling of being wrapped up in one another. The cool airsurrounding us seems to settle, becoming warmer the longer we stand still. The sounds of the city at night are distant, even soothing.

This is heaven, I think. Holding the girl you didn’t know you needed, over a thousand feet above the city you love, suspended in time you wished would stop.

“What now?”

It should be a simple question to answer. But it’s not. What now? What. Now. Now? I shake my head, fighting what I want and what I know is right before eventually saying, “I think you should think about whatyouwant?”

The words cost me.

But all important words should.

“I think that’s a good idea,” she says, arching back. Placing a hand on my chest over my heart, she meets my eyes. “I wasn’t expecting this,” she says, tapping her hand over my heart. “I wasn’t expecting to meet you.”

“Can I still drive you home?”

Her eyes widen slightly, and I realize that she was thinking I’d try to convince her otherwise.

“Yes.”

But when I shift, preparing to leave, she reaches out her hand, stopping me. “Could we stay awhile longer?” Turning back to the view of the city, she laughs. The sound is light,almostcarefree. “Ireallylike this perspective.”

As I watch her stand in the dark, dressed for a ball, her arms wrapped around herself as she gazes down on Los Angeles, I say, “As long as you want.”

She turns to me, her obvious amusement relaxing me again. “You still owe me a dance.”

“I do?”

“Uh-huh.”

This time when I hold out my hand, she does not hesitate to take it.

The moment our fingers are linked, I twirl her, once, and when she laughs, twice. As she comes out of the second turn, I step to her, steadying her with my frame. One hand clasped with hers, the other moving to her waist, I lead her into a classic waltz.

She picks up the steps fluidly, never breaking time even though she’s in those ridiculous heels. They have to be four or five inches, tall enough that we can dance easily despite our height difference.

“You’ve been holding out on me, Lieutenant.” She whispers.

“My mother always insisted that the only two skills a man needs are to be able to dance and to cook.” I laugh, thinking back on the impromptu dance lessons with my ma in the shabby lounge of our small home. “I think she just said that because my father could do neither.”

With a quiet chuckle, Catherine leans into me. “I could think of a few more skills a man should have.”

The suggestion in her tone has my dick twitching. “Oh, yeah?”

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