Page 29 of Love Bound

For a moment, I'm afraid he isn't going to follow me, but he does. I can feel him behind me. I can feel him inside me, changing me.

I watch him introduce himself to everyone, the candlelight playing on his face. There is his slow smile when Cory comes up to shake his hand. His odd familiarity with Geo makes me realize I need to get away—away, and downstairs.

I quickly excuse myself, trying not to earn a look from Devon, and then I trip downstairs to the clinic bathroom and shut the door. My heart is beating so fast that when I shut the door, I have to make sure I don't slam it behind me.

What is it about him? Why is my body doing this?

First the kiss, now this?

I run the spigot then lean over and splash cold water on my face. After grabbing a bunch of paper towels, I blot myself dry and stare in the mirror. I'm flushing. Me. Bright red. Not a cute, rosy pink—red. Pulling back my hair, I look in horror at the tips of my ears. Also bright red. I am conscious of some part of me deep inside starting to ache with a tug that makes me splash more water on my face.

I quickly finger comb my hair back into place and toy with just staying down here forever when I hear Geo's big laugh amidst the murmur of conversation and decide enough is enough. I look carefully in the mirror and note that my eyes look terribly heavy-lidded and I'm still too pink. Laurel will notice. I put my hand on the doorknob and sigh.

I’m ready to meet the enemy—the one I apparently want to fuck. And then, my heart skips a few beats. The one I really did just kiss.

I open the door and head on up.

Chapter Eight

Finn

Devon, the one with the slick board of straight hair, whisks the pie pan from my hands and the cheesecake is nestled in the fridge, next to two bowls of cranberry relish. Geo strolls over to take a peek and gives me a thumbs up. Cory, who finally shook my hand like the little man he is, has me follow him to meet his mom, a young thing with dark brown curly hair. I can almost place them for the picture Geo had in his wallet. The tall brooding Chloe, the intense blonde Claire, the kinetic Devon, and languishing Laurel.

When I glance at the tall young man standing by the gravy boat, I’m surprised Geo has a son. I would have thought he'd have shown me that photo too at the lawyer's office. The older couple, in the corner chairs, I recognize from across the road. She always waves; he never makes eye contact. I shove my hands in my pockets, aware that I’m the odd man out. I can feel the distance from these people while they laugh and talk. I am not connected, yet I am.

Because there was that kiss.

It caught me off guard. Claire had turned around so swiftly, so smoothly, and without touching, touched me. I felt her hair brush against me first, and then smelled her—sweet and warm like honey and lavender—and then before my heart could engage, she pressed her lips to mine with such confidence, such care, and I felt her breathe into me. Her standing a step above me left us nearly eye to eye and the softness of her mouth, her taste, wasn’t weighted by gravity. She was all there. I felt it.

Then it was over. As suddenly as it started, and I couldn't say a word. She didn’t look at me. There was no flirtation. She just turned and kept walking up the stairs. I never had a chance to ascertain the number of egresses or clearance on the stairwell—all my powers of assessment were blown.

And now she's MIA.

Probably embarrassed, I decide and try to push what happened on the stairs from my mind.

Geo comes up from behind and lays a hand on my shoulder. "Have you spoken to her yet?"

No—but I kissed her.

"No, I haven’t had the chance."

"Well, you might be the Thanksgiving Day Hallmark card if you play it right."

Approaching with a glass of cold, pink shrimp curled over the rim and cocktail sauce in the middle is Laurel. "Where's Claire?"

"Here," Claire says, and she comes up out of that stairwell, just radiant, her skin flushed, her hair slightly damp. I see where it's curled tighter from sweat.

I want to kiss her, kiss her forehead, her cheeks, her eyelids, her mouth, devour her, and there is a surge beginning deep at my core.

And then I think of Allison.

Betrayal, like beauty, is in the eye of the beholder. This feels like betrayal, and that thought—that reality that my wife is not here to enjoy this, not here to see the ocean, to help raise our child, to eat and sleep and do all the things she could do in a single day—guts me.

Claire lost her parents and unconditional love.

I lost my partner and a chosen love.

I can't look at Claire, and for a moment I think maybe I should just leave, but in a weird way, that would make that kiss seem like more than it was. I need to stand my ground, get a grip on myself. Feeling a nudge, I turn and see Devon motioning me down the hall.