Page 331 of Seasons of Love
22
BUBBLE
There’s something raw in the way Riley looks at me. Like he wants to consume me and is both afraid and eager to get started.
“Okay, let’s go inside.” I take his hand, and he follows me.
We don’t talk as we hang our coats and shake the snow off our boots before putting them on the tray.
The silence is killing me because I don’t know what he’s thinking. I want to know if he’s really ready for this, if he’s feeling what I’m feeling. It’s okay if he’s not, but I need to know.
“Are you hungry? I could make you something to eat,” I say, walking over to the fridge.
“Curtis.”
“Nothing too complicated. I’ll give in and make you a sandwich. A proper one, not one of those things you call a sandwich.”
“Curtis.”
His voice is closer now. I shiver at his closeness. Why does taking this next step scare me so much?
Because you already care too much about him and you’re afraid to get hurt.
Oh shut up, stupid brain.
“There’s some leftovers from last night. Pulled pork and—”
I squeak as my sock-covered feet are lifted off the ground, and I’m taken to the bedroom over Riley’s shoulder.
He drops me on the bed, making me bounce, and then follows, covering my body with his.
“Tell me you still want this, Curtis.” His voice is raw, vulnerable.
“More than anything, Riley.”
He closes his eyes like he’s in pain. I reach over and massage his temples.
“Does it bother you that I’m much older than you?” he asks.
“What? No, not at all.”
“I’ll be fifty-six in ten years. Will you feel the same way then?”
I smile. “I’ve loved many things for a lot longer and haven’t changed my mind. Riley, I might be Bubble, but remember, I’m also Curtis. Sometimes I don’t want to be the one to cheer everyone up. Sometimes I want to cuddle in bed with a book. Sometimes I want someone to bake me a cake.”
“I can’t bake,” he says.
“I know an excellent place in Chester Falls.”
He smiles and leans his forehead against mine.
“I don’t want to ruin this. You are too special, and I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You will only hurt me if you want me but refuse to follow your heart.”
“I followed my heart once, and…” He closes his eyes like it’s a painful memory. “Can I touch you?”
I whisper. “I’m yours.”
