Part 8: A Little Closer
My Not-So-Stranger,
You asked whether I'd still reach for your hand when the butterflies settled.
Perhaps I should answer that after telling you what happened to my thoughts when you finally kissed me.
For someone who always seemed to know what to say, you were surprisingly quiet.
And for someone who had spent so long pretending to be unaffected by you, I wasn't doing much better.
The kiss was gentle, almost careful at first. But it was the way you lingered afterward, your forehead resting against mine, your fingers still entwined with mine, that made me reluctant to move away.
I looked at you, smiling faintly.
“Is this the part where you write me another paragraph?”
You smiled. “I might be a little distracted.”
“By what?”
“You. Obviously.”
I tried to roll my eyes, but you were looking at me with such unguarded tenderness that my teasing faltered.
So I did something I hadn't planned.
I caught the front of your shirt lightly between my fingers and drew you a little closer.
“Then stop talking for a minute.”
Your smile softened.
And this time, I was the one who closed the distance.
The second kiss wasn't a question we'd been carrying between us anymore. It was an answer we were both choosing, a little more certain now, a little less afraid of what the silence might reveal.
When I finally drew back, I stayed close enough to see the smile you were trying so desperately to hide.
“Oh,” I whispered, pretending to consider something important. “This could become a problem.”
“Should I be worried?”
“Very. You might become difficult to get rid of.”
You laughed, and I rested my head against your shoulder, hiding my smile for a moment.
But then your hand found mine again, and something about that simple gesture made the teasing fall quiet.
Perhaps that's what I wanted you to understand.
I don't just want the kisses we'll remember. I want the moments in between, the closeness that feels natural, the glances that say too much, the comfort of being near someone without having to invent a reason.
And maybe, occasionally, the delicious inconvenience of wanting one more kiss when I should probably be saying goodbye.
I lifted my head and met your eyes.
“Tell me something, LionHeart.”
My fingers tightened gently around yours.
“Now that you know what it's like to kiss me, do you think you'll be able to look at me the same way again?”
I let the question hang between us, then leaned closer and whispered...
“Because I don't think I can look at you without remembering.”
Your turn, my not-so-stranger.
My Not-So-Stranger,
You asked whether I'd still reach for your hand when the butterflies settled.
Perhaps I should answer that after telling you what happened to my thoughts when you finally kissed me.
For someone who always seemed to know what to say, you were surprisingly quiet.
And for someone who had spent so long pretending to be unaffected by you, I wasn't doing much better.
The kiss was gentle, almost careful at first. But it was the way you lingered afterward, your forehead resting against mine, your fingers still entwined with mine, that made me reluctant to move away.
I looked at you, smiling faintly.
“Is this the part where you write me another paragraph?”
You smiled. “I might be a little distracted.”
“By what?”
“You. Obviously.”
I tried to roll my eyes, but you were looking at me with such unguarded tenderness that my teasing faltered.
So I did something I hadn't planned.
I caught the front of your shirt lightly between my fingers and drew you a little closer.
“Then stop talking for a minute.”
Your smile softened.
And this time, I was the one who closed the distance.
The second kiss wasn't a question we'd been carrying between us anymore. It was an answer we were both choosing, a little more certain now, a little less afraid of what the silence might reveal.
When I finally drew back, I stayed close enough to see the smile you were trying so desperately to hide.
“Oh,” I whispered, pretending to consider something important. “This could become a problem.”
“Should I be worried?”
“Very. You might become difficult to get rid of.”
You laughed, and I rested my head against your shoulder, hiding my smile for a moment.
But then your hand found mine again, and something about that simple gesture made the teasing fall quiet.
Perhaps that's what I wanted you to understand.
I don't just want the kisses we'll remember. I want the moments in between, the closeness that feels natural, the glances that say too much, the comfort of being near someone without having to invent a reason.
And maybe, occasionally, the delicious inconvenience of wanting one more kiss when I should probably be saying goodbye.
I lifted my head and met your eyes.
“Tell me something, LionHeart.”
My fingers tightened gently around yours.
“Now that you know what it's like to kiss me, do you think you'll be able to look at me the same way again?”
I let the question hang between us, then leaned closer and whispered...
“Because I don't think I can look at you without remembering.”
Your turn, my not-so-stranger.
