Were quiet most of the way, but Im fine with it. Im not someone who feels the need for constant conversation, and Im learning that he might be the same way.
Its right up here, I say, pointing to the right when we reach a crosswalk. I glance down at an elderly man seated on the sidewalk, bundled up in a tattered, thin coat. His eyes are closed, and the gloves on his shivering hands are rifled with holes.
Ive always been sympathetic to people who have nothing and nowhere to go. Corbin hates that I can never pass homeless people without giving them money or food. He says the majority of them are homeless because they have addictions and that when I give them money, it only feeds those addictions.
Honestly, I dont care if thats the case. If someone is homeless because he has a need for something that is stronger than his need for a home, it doesnt deter me in the least. Maybe its because Im a nurse, but I dont believe addiction is a choice. Addiction is an illness, and it pains me to see people forced to live this way because theyre unable to help themselves.
I would give him money if I had brought my purse.
I realize Im no longer walking when I feel Miles steal a glance back in my direction. Hes watching me watch the old man, so I pick up my pace and catch back up with him. I dont say anything to defend the troubled expression on my face. Its pointless. Ive been through it enough with Corbin to know that I dont have the desire to try to change all the opinions I disagree with.
This is it, I say, coming to a pause in front of the store.
Miles stops walking and inspects the display inside the store window. Do you like that? he asks, pointing at the window. I take a step closer and look at it with him. Its a bedroom display, but there are elements in it that hes looking for. The rug on the floor is gray with several geometric shapes in various shades of blue and black. It actually looks like something that would fit his taste.
The curtains arent navy, though. Theyre a slate gray, with one solid white line running vertically down the left side of the panel.
I do like it, I reply.
He steps in front of me and opens the door to let me walk in first. A saleswoman is making her way toward the front before the door even closes behind us. She asks if she can help us find anything. Miles points to the window. I want those curtains. Four of them. And the rug.
The saleswoman smiles and motions for us to follow her. What width and height do you need?
Miles pulls his phone out and reads off the measurements to her. She helps him pick out curtain rods and then tells us shell be a few minutes. She heads to the back and leaves us alone at the register. I look around, suddenly developing the urge to pick out decorations for my own place. I plan on staying with Corbin for a couple more months, but it wouldnt hurt to have an idea of what Ill want for my own place when I do finally move out. Im hoping itll be just as easy to shop when that time comes as it was for Miles today.
Ive never seen anyone shop this fast, I tell him.
Disappointed?
I quickly shake my head. If theres one thing I dont do well as a girl, its shop. Im actually relieved it only took him a minute.
You think I should look around longer? he asks. Hes leaning against the counter now, watching me. I like the way he looks at melike Im the most interesting thing in the store.
If you like what you already picked out, I wouldnt keep looking. When you know, you know.
I meet his gaze, and the second I do, my mouth gets dry. Hes concentrating on me, and the serious look on his face makes me feel uncomfortable and nervous and interesting, all at once. He pushes off the counter and takes a step toward me.
Come here. His fingers reach down and wrap around mine, and he begins to pull me behind him.
My pulse is being ridiculous. Its sad, really.
Theyre just fingers, Tate. Dont let them affect you like this.
He continues walking until he reaches a wooden trifold screen, decorated with Asian writing on the outside. Its the kind of screen people place in the corners of bedrooms. I never understood them. My mother has one, and I doubt shes ever once stepped behind it to change clothes.
What are you doing? I ask him.
He turns and faces me, still holding on to my hand. He grins and steps behind the screen, pulling me with him so were both shielded from the rest of the store. I cant help but laugh, because it feels like were in high school, hiding from the teacher.
His finger meets my lips. Shh, he whispers, smiling down at me while he stares at my mouth.
I immediately stop laughing but not because I dont find this amusing anymore. I stop laughing because as soon as his finger is pressed against my lips, I forget how to laugh.
I forget everything.
Right now, the only thing I can focus on is his finger as it slides softly down my mouth and chin. His eyes follow the tip of his finger as it keeps moving, trailing gently down my throat, all the way to my chest, down, down, down to my stomach.
That one finger feels as if its touching me with the sensation of a thousand hands. My lungs and their inability to keep up are signs of that.
His eyes are still focused on his finger as it comes to a pause at the top of my jeans, right above the button. His finger isnt even making contact with my skin, but you wouldnt know that based on the rapid response of my pulse. His entire hand comes into play now as he lightly traces my stomach over the top of my shirt until his hand meets my waist. Both of his hands grip my hips and pull me forward, securing me against him.
His eyes close briefly, and when he opens them again, hes no longer looking down. Hes looking straight at me.
Ive been wanting to kiss you since you walked through my front door today, he says.