“To Mabel,” I added, raising my own chopsticks in celebration.

We spent the evening enjoying each other. I felt more and more relaxed as the night went on, and despite some momentary pangs for enjoying dinner with another man, I pushed through it.

This is what you wanted, remember?

“Do you ever think about that night, Grace?” Michael asked as we lazily sipped the last of our sake, waiting for the check.

“Yes. Sometimes. Do you?” I asked, knowing instantly what he was referring to, my voice steady. His gaze met mine, and neither of us looked away this time.

“Yes. More so lately. Over the years I thought about you and wondered where you were, what you were up to. I missed you sometimes,” he said.

“I missed you too,” I whispered, my voice no longer steady.

The check came and he put his credit card down without even looking at the waitress. She took it away while we stared at each other.

He licked his lips.

I tugged at my hair.

Our eyes never left each other.

The check came back to the table, and our gaze finally broke as he signed the receipt.

He stood and helped me with my coat. I was fighting with my scarf, trying to get my hair out from underneath it when he leaned in to help. I felt his fingers graze the back of my neck, and the instant spark from his touch made me take an extra breath. He brushed my hair out of the way and straightened it out. I stared up at him, the scent of warm wool and lemons thick in the air between us.

“You ready?” he asked, his voice low.

“I think so,” I answered, looking deep into his eyes.

He led me to the door, and we walked the few blocks to my apartment. We didn’t talk. I kept my arm looped through his, and he kept me close. We stopped in front of my door, and he looked at me.

“Well, I’ll see you in the morning, eight a.m.”

“Yep, eight a.m.,” I answered, swinging my arms nervously.

“Grace, I’m really glad we did this. It was really…nice,” he said, biting his lower lip. I felt a wave of nostalgia crash through me, as I remembered what had made me fall in love with him back in the day.

“Me too,” I replied, focusing all my attention on that bottom lip.

“So, goodnight,” he said, and turned to walk away.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. That bottom lip, that lip. My entire world was tied to that bottom lip. Why were all the men in my life constantly biting on their lower lip? And why did I find it so sexy?

I saw Jack—Johnny Bite Down—in my head, his face broken and sad that last night in L.A. I saw Michael holding my hand as we walked the streets of New York.

You can do this.

“Wait, Michael!” I called.

He turned back, an expectant look on his face.

“Do you want to come up for a while?” I asked, smiling.

He looked at me, eyes full of questions.

I nodded in affirmation.

“You sure?” he asked, walking toward me.

“Yes.”

He came back to me. “Then, yes. I’ll come up.” He took my hand and brought it to his mouth. His warm lips pressed to my skin, and I stared at the man I’d let get away from me when I was twenty-one.

The man who broke your heart, you mean?

Yes, yes. Whatever.

But he was here now. Again. And I knew we were perfect for each other. All the signs pointed to it. I mean, come on. People float in and out of your life for a reason. Michael and I were meant to fix what we should’ve never let break in the first place, all those years ago. I knew he wanted me. I knew that for certain now.

I took another deep breath and squelched the image that kept rising in my head: My George.

I pushed it aside with all my might, slammed The Drawer, and reached for Michael’s other hand. Walking backward into my building, I pulled him with me. “Come on,” I said, and we went inside.

Chapter 15

Michael followed me into the elevator without another word. I took a deep breath as I pressed the button for my floor. My head was whirling—from the sake, from the closeness of Michael, from the distance from Jack.

When the door pinged open, I looked at him and was overcome by the warmth in his eyes. He smiled hesitantly at me, and I smiled back. I extended my hand once more to him and pulled him out into the hallway. We walked silently down the hall to my door, and when I pulled my keys out, he took them and opened the door for me. He nodded and let me walk in before him. As I passed him, I took another hit of wool and lemons, and my eyes crossed a little. It was intoxicating.

I took off my coat. He removed his. I asked him if he wanted anything to drink. He declined. I started to say something about the mess in my apartment. There was no mess.

And then he came to me, all comfort and safe haven, and opened his arms.

I fell into them, my face nuzzling against the soft fleece covering his chest. I could feel his breathing speed up as mine did, and I felt his arms around me, his face buried in my hair, his breath hot in my ear.

I was spun backward in time to a futon and a boy and a girl discovering each other. My hands clutched at his fleece as his hands dug into the small of my back.

“Grace,” I heard him say, and I shivered.

I pulled away to look up and was momentarily blinded by the feeling shining from his eyes. I smiled shyly at him, and he bent his head. He pressed his lips to mine as softly and shyly as my smile. My stomach tightened as I allowed myself to feel everything coursing through me at that moment.

His hands moved across my back, gently pressing me into his body. I deepened our kiss, tracing my tongue across his bottom lip and sucking it into my mouth. He sighed, his breath fanning across my face in a heavenly way.

He answered my kiss with a deeper one of his own, his hands now tangled in my hair. My hands slipped around to his back, sliding up under his pullover, touching his skin for the first time.

We pulled apart for one second, the space between us crackling. Our foreheads met.

His hands crawled restlessly from my hair to my back, continuing to press me further into him. I felt his excitement at our closeness. It was thrilling.

I trailed my nails down his back, and he groaned.

“Grace, you’re killing me.” He laughed, and I smiled in response.

“Let me,” I whispered.

His hands crept between us, and he slipped my shirt out of my pants. My skin was on fire as I felt his knuckles graze my tummy, and I inhaled quickly.

He stopped, bending his head to meet my eyes. “Is this okay?” he asked, concern flooding his face.

You sure about this?

Shhhh.

“It’s okay, Michael, really.” I brought my hands back around front and slipped them under his shirt.

He grinned, then closed his eyes at the sensation of my hands exploring his chest and abdomen. I pushed up his shirt and kissed his skin. His scent was stronger here, the heat concentrated. I kissed across his chest and felt his hands raise my shirt. He began to undress me. I let him.

We made our way to the bedroom, and as we walked, me backward and him forward, shirts were removed. We smiled and laughed a little, in the way that young kids do when they discover something new and exciting, but a little scary.

We paused at the edge of the bed, neither of us quite sure who would make the first move, who would move this act beyond simple exploration and into something much more serious. I closed my eyes, took a breath, and pushed him down onto the comforter. Quickly he rolled so that I was beneath him, and held my face in his hands as he gazed down at me.

“I’ve thought about having you this way again for so long, Grace,” he murmured, sweeping kisses across my forehead and down across my face.

He bent his head to me, his curly hair tickling as he made his way down my body, kisses becoming more and more urgent. It felt wonderful and surreal and warm and comforting and weird and strange and too much.