It would be.
I felt that.
But I also felt that same twinge of fear—albeit much quieter—that worried it would all go away. The heat of his arms replayed through my head. The bracing smell of pine and man and sweat. My skin prickled with goosebumps when I remembered his eagerness to touch me again, like a drowning man.
Mark, I felt in my core, was the best of men.
Resolve filled me again. Allowing myself to be happy wouldn't be easy, but it could be simple. Joshua still hung over my head. My utter lack of plans and steady accounting work followed next. Setting those aside to let myself be in the moment would take some practice, but at least I'd do it this time. Years lay behind me where I didn't let myself be happy. No more of that.
I'd pulled myself from the hamster wheel and now I stood in the vast, big world. The openness could swamp me, but I wouldn't let it.
No, dadgummit. I'd be happy.
With a satisfied nod, I headed up the ladder to unpack a little more, eager to be surrounded by the smell of Mark until he returned home.
The front door flew open with a bang three hours later.
Startled, I jerked up from my spot on the couch to see Mark strolling inside, two brown grocery bags in his arms. He grinned over the top of them when he saw me. The mouth-watering smell of Chinese food floated with him.
“Grabbed us some dinner,” he said as he kicked the door closed. Once he set the bags down on the table, he grabbed something out of one and pitched it to me. I caught it and then laughed. A bag of dark chocolates.
“Thank you.”
He winked and tossed his keys onto a nail in the wall. A brisk wind had blown in with him, leaving his cheeks reddened at the top. He had a glint in his eye when he headed toward me, then pulled me off the couch and into his arms. Any fears I'd harbored that all those kisses had been a fluke, or he'd want to run away after this and not talk again, dissipated in another warm kiss.
“That,” he murmured after he pulled away, a chilly knuckle stroking my cheek, “is worth coming home to.”
I grinned, my arms around his waist, still feeling heady.
“I like the sweats look.” He peeked around to take in my new attire.
“Yeah?”
“Oh yeah. Very sexy.”
“You have strange tastes then,” I said with a laugh, but couldn't deny there had been a small part of me that wondered if he'd get weird when I turned casual. I so rarely turned casual these days.
He kissed the tip of my nose and stepped back to peel his coat off. “Any word from Seiko?”
I shook my head. “Peeked out there and looks like she started a fire and the lights are on. Otherwise, she hasn't needed anything.”
He pumped a fist, then rummaged through one of the bags. “Bought some groceries but I already put most of them in the kitchen. The coffee, creamer, and other stuff can stay in here. Took a wild shot,” he said as he pulled two styrofoam boxes out, “and figured you were a kung pao chicken and lo mein kind of girl.”
I grinned. “Well done, sir.”
He smiled again in that lopsided way that turned my heart upside down. “Great. I went with broccoli beef, as one does, and fried rice. And I am willing to share.”
While I rummaged through the other bag and put things in the fridge—creamer, small milk, and some pre-peeled hardboiled eggs and cheese packets for his post-workout snacks—he slipped into the bathroom to change. When he emerged in an almost-too-tight t-shirt and gym pants, I felt a flood of heat through my entire body.
We settled into dinner across from each other at the table, where he unabashedly played footsie with me.
“So,” I drawled as I speared a piece of chicken. “Seiko seems quiet, and easy, and it's kind of her to help us out but—”
“We need to get our next booking.”
He leaned back in his chair, a grain of rice on his lips. I nodded and had a sip of chocolate milk I'd stolen from the fridge.
“Yeah.”
His teeth clacked together as he fell into thought, and I let the silence ride. Lizbeth's ghostly involvement in the moving parts of this left me feeling half-blind. What licensure? How long did it take? What were the next steps? He mentioned something about social media, but where? What would she talk about, and in what capacity?
The urge to talk to her followed, but I set that aside. For some reason, I didn't feel great about talking to Lizbeth. Maybe because Mark had once had—probably still did, on some level—strong feelings for her. Or because she held a more firm place in his life than I may ever hold.
I shoved those thoughts aside. They didn't feel great to think about. When I turned my attention to Mark, he'd stared at the ground, still lost in thought.
“Mark?”
He blinked out of it, then shook his head. “Sorry. I have a few more leads I can follow up on. Some other people that I can talk to that may be interested.”
“Are they pity people?”
He snorted. “No, but almost.”
That didn't feel great either, but he dove back into his food. Didn't seem to bother him that his plan for keeping Adventura halfway relied on the charity of others, but it wasn't a thought I wanted to voice. The congenial, warm air between us was too nice and I wanted to bask in it a bit more.
“I grabbed a few things for Seiko while I ran to the store,” he said. “I'd forgotten shampoo and soap for the bathroom out there. I'll get a firmer date and time for when her band will be here, then we can do the official booking.”
“Thanks.”
“After we eat, I'll send some texts.” He waved his
