Feeling ready, I turn my head back toward Anwar. I see his gorgeous face smile for just a second before he leans toward me. The second I kiss Anwar, my entire body begins to buzz. His lips are just so soft and taste rich and full, almost like wisps of smoke and cherries. His stubble brushes against my cheek, and suddenly I think I’m kissing a man—a real-live, fully grown man.

I feel Anwar’s hands reach forward and brace against my hips, which is not my favorite feature, so I roll Anwar onto his back and position myself on top of him. I then feel his hands travel to the small of my back—much better.

My chest presses against Anwar’s and I feel him gasp a little, but a good gasp. So I press a little harder, reaching my own hands toward Anwar’s stomach. I don’t mean to, but I manage to slip my hands under his shirt and my fingers find warm skin. I almost pull back, but he just feels so soft. And as I grasp tighter, all I feel is the solid muscle underneath.

Then it’s my turn to gasp.

Anwar turns and buries his lips into my neck, sending a shudder through my body. His hands travel down lower to the arch of my butt, one of my best assets, and I can feel how turned on he is by it. By me.

“I have thought about doing this for a very long time,” Anwar whispers, his breath in my ear.

“Then let’s not wait any longer,” I answer, kissing him again.

This time there’s more passion in the kiss, more urgency. It becomes supercharged, frantic—like we have to have each other.

So we do.

Once again, I have no idea how much time passes. All I know is I now lie in the curve of Anwar’s arm back in our bedroom for the night, my head resting on his chest. We did exactly what I wanted to do—what I was ready to do—and nothing more. And we were safe. With Anwar, that’s how I seem to feel, like the anxiety melts out of my body somehow.

“Why, oh why, did you have to move away all those years ago?” I ask, tilting my head up to face him. When I do, Anwar looks far away, like he’s troubled. “Hey, you okay?”

“Yeah. But can we have another question lightning round?”

“Sure,” I say.

“What do you think happened back at Coupled Cottage?” Anwar asks. “I mean, what really happened. With the lights and the cards and everything else?”

I wish Anwar’s asking this question would magically sprout an answer in my head, but it doesn’t.

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“Honestly? I don’t think there was just one thing happening there, not just one truth unfolding.”

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