Page 119 of My Heart Still Beats
“I have to talk to Ben about some work,” Tessa continues.
“Can’t that wait until tomorrow?” Mrs. Logan asks. “Or Monday, when you’re actually at work?”
“Your mother’s right, Tessa,” I say. “You should stay here.”
“I’ll walk you to your car, then,” Tessa says. “I’m wet anyway.”
Two or three people are scattered in the living and family rooms, but most of the mourners have left.
Sherlock is outside waiting. I signal to him not to bother getting out of the car in the rain.
Tessa grabs my hand. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For being here. For talking to me. For that kiss.”
I smile, caressing her cheek. God, her skin is soft as silk. “It was the right time.”
“It was.” She looks up to the sky. The rain has subdued a bit. “It was the perfect time.”
I stroke the back of her head. “I’d like to kiss you again, Tessa. I think you know that. I think you know I’d like to do a lot more than kiss you.”
She nods, a raindrop landing on her eyelash. I gently flick it off.
“Would you like to have lunch tomorrow?” I ask.
She smiles, her cheeks blushing pink despite the chill of the rain. “I think I’d like that.”
“I’ll pick you up around noon here. You’ll still be here, right?”
“Yeah. But then you can take me back to my place. I already told my mom I’ll be going back, since it’s so much closer to work. Aunt Lily and Eva are staying here with her.”
“Awesome.” I touch my lips to hers. Sparks jump all over me. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”
I get into the car, and as Sherlock drives away, I look through the rain-spattered window at Tessa, her fingers touching her lips.
…
Sunday afternoon lunch with Tessa turns out to be brunch. When I pick her up at noon, she says she is hankering for some scrambled eggs with bacon. I take her to the Plaza Hotel’s Sunday champagne brunch, which goes until two o’clock.
I’d actually entertained the idea of bringing her to my place and making her lunch, but then I figured it was too soon.
That kiss yesterday in the rain…
She was so beautiful with the rain and the tears sliding down her cheeks. Tormented and haunted, yet so damned beautiful.
When she tilted her chin, I knew it was the right time.
I’m surprised when she takes a sip of the champagne that our server poured for her.
“Do you like champagne?” I ask. “You didn’t drink it on the flight to Jamaica.”
She sets her flute down. “I do. I had some for the toast at Skye’s bachelorette party. And I had a Skye cocktail. Other than that I haven’t had a lot to drink since…”
I nod. I’m not going to make her say it.
“I can’t thank you enough,” she goes on. “The party was perfectly executed. Even the dancers.”
