Vegas Knot (✔️) | Love Travels #1

Thirty-Eight

We stare at each other, chests rising and falling, his at a pace I hadn't seen since our brush with a mountain goat the other day. The darkness gives us some cover, the imposing house casting us in shadow from the bright moonlight.

Finally, the tumbleweeds evacuate my head, and my brain catches up with everything he's said.

"Did you just ask me why I would cook dinner?" Deep breaths, Bianca. Deep breaths. "Worried I'd burn it again? I'm trying here, Enrique. When am I going to get something back?"

He completely ignores my second request. "No. Stop." He strides across the distance and takes my shaking hands into his warm, soft ones, pulling them into his chest before he continues. "Why did you take the time to cook dinner and put on that dress—" His eyes rake across me, leaving fire everywhere they touch. "When I'd treated you so poorly. I did nothing to deserve your kindness."

"You did plenty of things to deserve the doghouse. Or cat house, though I'm not convinced Charles really exists. And I expect you to find my phone for me, thief."

"Charles exists!" he contests. "He's just shy."

He must catch my glare, because he answers the rest. "You're right. Plenty of reasons to deserve at least the couch. Can you forgive me?"

My arm works without me, pulling his arms around my back until he's hugging me. I let go, pressing up onto my toes until I can reach my lips to his ears. "Why do you think I made you dinner?" I ask, and heat radiates off him as he shivers.

"I know you don't deserve it. But you've given me plenty I don't deserve. Isn't that the point?"

His breath comes slow and measured, heart beating against my chest as every piece of him molds into me. "Isn't what the point?" he asks, voice low.

"Isn't that what you do for someone you love?" My arms are locked around him, pulling him into me so there's no way he can look at me.

His arms press on my shoulders, trying to push me far enough away to read my facial expression, probably. But he's strong, and eventually he manages to push me back just enough to—

Oh.

The sky darkens as his lips meet mine, and I melt into him, pressing into him.

His hands wander across my dress appreciatively and I tip my head back, pressing up onto my toes to regain some control of our kiss.

Enrique lets me. And then he picks me up and carries me into the house, not bothering to remove my mismatched shoes as he makes his way through the living room, laying me down on the couch and—

What is that incessant noise?

The thought creeps into my mind briefly, making me push Enrique away and sit up, straightening my dress. "What is that?"

Enrique's flushed face and slightly askew hair reminds me of what I've just interrupted. "Is that my phone?"

Now I'm up, running around the room and trying to figure out where the noise is coming from. But the ringing stops.

Perfect! Of course this happens.

Enrique's hand pulls at the hem of my dress. "You want me to call it so you can find it?" He looks about ready to devour me or fall asleep for three weeks. And it's very impressive that he's able to manage both of them at once.

"I don't think I do, actually. But dinner's getting cold. Did you want to try it?"

He pulls me into him and my mind goes blank again.

"Did you want me to try it?" his teeth nip at my ear and I can't think straight.

"Yes. Yes, I want you to try it," I answer, pushing him away. "I worked hard for this."

His groan is almost inaudible as he follows me to the table and sits down where I instruct him. "Now, don't move. I'm going to heat it up. It's probably extremely cold by now."

"I was out there a long time," he admits, eyes drifting to his lap.

"What?" I ask, in the middle of putting our bowls into the microwave.

"I've been pacing out there for... a while. Trying to figure out what I'd say to you when I came back in. I should never have said that how I did. I just absolutely want you to know I want you to have your friends. I don't want you to feel lonely. I want you to be comfortable here. I need you to be happy."

"Why do you think I made dinner and put on this dress?" I'm trying to be coy, but he answers me with absolutely gut shattering honesty.

"Because you want to make everything better. You hate fighting. You're a peacemaker in the worst way and I love you for it but you don't need to make up for anything or smooth things over when I'm the one who did something wrong." He pauses for a second before adding, "Even now, you're not comfortable here, Bianca. You're still walking on eggshells."

Knife, meet gut.

I'm struggling to come up with an answer when my phone starts ringing again.

Saved by the proverbial bell, I race around the living room, finally finding it wedged behind a bookcase. There is absolutely no way a cat put that there.

But I have bigger fish to fry. My mother is calling me. For what looks like the thirteenth time today.

A deep sense of doom washes over me as I pick up the phone, Enrique is still standing motionless in the kitchen, waiting for me to return to a conversation I have every intention of wiggling out of. I decide I'll distract him with the reunion, once I'm done dealing with my mother.

"Hello," I croak out, picking up the phone with seconds to spare before the call would have gone to voicemail.

"Ah, Bianca!" she sighs. "I've been trying to reach you. Don't be alarmed. I'm fine. It's just..."

My mother has broken her leg, sprained her wrist, and may have a small concussion. Women of her age may be capable of triathlons, but evidently she is not.

"I'm on my way," I say before she can ask. She has no one but me.

"Bianca, I'm just calling to let you know. I don't need—"

"I'll be right there," I cut her off, picking up my keys and racing out the door without a second thought.

It's only when I pull out onto the street that I remember the makeshift date night I planned for Enrique. And a snake slithers up my back, because I only remembered when I saw him racing after my tail lights, face stricken with fear and confusion, illuminated only by the dim light of the moon and the one functional streetlight our area has left.

Our street.

I reach over to spin my engagement ring with my finger and it's not there. The empty space on my finger tingles as if the ring is still present, despite the distance growing between me and its spot on the bookshelf. Now, the ghost where my ring used to sit is there to remind me of everything I left behind in my haste.

You're not comfortable here, Bianca. You're walking on eggshells.

Damn him for being right. Curse him with everything I have left. I am officially the worst wife in the history of the world.

But I can't deal with that today. Today, I have to get home and avoid adding 'worst daughter in the world' to that list. If I'd just been here, this never would have happened. I'd have seen this coming and I could have stopped it. I could have helped.

The gas pedal resists as I press it harder, urging the car even further above the speed limit. 

One problem at a time.