Marisa frowns slightly. “Ethan? Something wrong?”
I shake my head and make myself smile. “No,” I say brightly. “Not a thing. You like red or white?”
We choose a South African red. The waiter brings it and pours for both of us, then leaves without asking for our orders. That annoys me until I realize the waiter is deliberately not rushing us, giving us time. The memory of my parents has thrown the evening slightly off-kilter, and I take a breath, willing myself to relax. The red wine helps.
“This is nice,” Marisa says, swirling her wine gently in her glass. “But it’s a little backwards.”
She has caught me midsip, and I swallow my wine quickly. “You don’t like it?” I say, indicating the glass in my hand. “We can order a different bottle.”
She shakes her head and leans forward a little, looking me in the eye and dropping her voice just a notch. “I mean this. Going out on a date, to a nice dinner, getting to know each other better.” She gives the barest hint of a smile, the corner of her mouth slowly rising. “Usually that’s what happens before you go to bed with someone.”
I wait a beat, watching her smile widen, and then I match it with one of my own. “That’s the usual course of events,” I say.
She laughs and tips her glass toward me, conceding a point.
DINNER IS GOOD, our conversation easy and pleasant. But beneath it all is a strong current that tugs at both of us, rising slowly like a river we have waded into. It strengthens when we share a dessert, when the check comes and we flirt over who is paying for dinner, when we walk outside and come to that moment where Marisa will need to call an Uber or not.
“I can take you home,” I say. “If you want.”
Marisa is leaning into me, my arm around her, and that vanilla-pepper scent wraps around me. She turns her head so her lips are at my ear. “I don’t want to go home,” she says.
The valet brings my car around. I’m not sure how I manage to drive us home, in large part because Marisa rests her hand on my thigh as I’m driving. As it is, when I do get to my street, I go up my driveway fast enough that we bounce over the tree roots and I hit my head on the roof of the car. Marisa laughs, deep and throaty, and when I park the car I reach over and kiss her, hard, her mouth opening to mine and our tongues meeting, exploring. We barely get out of the car and into the house. I think fleetingly of how glad I am that Susannah is out tonight, and that I took Wilson to the vet today for his annual checkup and left him overnight because he loves to play with the other dogs, and then I’m fully swept up in the current that carries us down the hallway, Marisa’s lips on my neck, her tongue teasing my ear, my fingers searching for the zipper at the back of her dress, and we are both swept over the edge and fall, limbs and mouths and hair entangled, onto my bed.
“WE,” I SAY, a bit breathlessly, and then I have to wet my lips with my tongue because they are suddenly dry. “We need to do that again.”
Marisa, having already made a discreet run to the bathroom, stretches luxuriantly next to me and gives an affirmative mmm. She nestles next to me, head on my shoulder, one leg over mine. “Definitely,” she murmurs. Her hand splays across my chest, stroking gently.
I kiss her forehead. “Slower next time, maybe.”
She turns her head to look up at me, her eyes wide and innocent. “You didn’t like it?”
I smile and run one hand down her side, the curve of her hip. “I liked it fine,” I say. “But I’d like to enjoy it for longer.”
“Well, then,” Marisa says, and she gracefully throws one leg over me so she’s straddling me, arms on either side of my head, face inches above mine. In the dark I can hear the smile in her voice. “No time like the present.”
AFTER, BOTH OF us lying on our backs, catching our breaths, I realize we are holding hands, Marisa’s fingers entwined with mine. It’s curiously more intimate than anything else we’ve done that evening. Something swells in my chest then, pleasant and warm and golden-light. It takes me a moment to realize it’s happiness.
“Be right back,” Marisa says; then she lets go of my hand and gets out of bed. I know she’s just going to pee, but I don’t like the empty side of the bed she leaves behind. I lay in the dark, my head and heart both whirling. Lucky, I keep thinking, like a mantra.
A flush, then Marisa padding across my room and getting back in bed. “Cold,” she says, snuggling up to me.
“Do you want a T-shirt?” I ask. I feel her head nod against my chest. “Okay.” I slide out from the covers and go to my chest of drawers, take out a T-shirt, and carry it back to her. As she pulls it on, I find my boxers and pull them up, then lie back down on my pillow, waiting for Marisa to curl up next to me, which she does. She’s warm and smooth and … present, is the best way I can describe it. She’s fully here, with me, my arm around her like it belongs there.
“God, I feel so close to you,” she says, her lips brushing my shoulder.
I squeeze her in acknowledgment, my eyes drifting shut.
“It’s like we can share anything,” she says. “No secrets.”
My eyes open.
“Tell me something I don’t know about you,” she says.
“I’m really, really good at Jeopardy!,” I say.
She pinches my nipple gently. “Not
