Chapter 25

CHAPTER 25

Cole

Just got back, I'm dying to see you. Can I come to dinner tomorrow? Kinda early, like 5 or so?

Tia

YES! Definitely! I'm so happy you're back.

Cole

A week away from you is ridiculous. Okay, cool, see you tomorrow.

I've spent most of the afternoon observing Aunt Mari in the kitchen as she prepares the food for dinner tonight. She's been teaching me as we go through the steps to make chile rellenos and enchiladas, but also relegating me to chopping onions and jalape?os for salsa fresca.

After a long shower and a few spritzes of floral perfume, I'm tying the belt of my sleeveless denim jumpsuit and making sure my gold earrings are secure when I hear Cole's Camaro outside. My nervous anticipation rockets sky-high. I quickly run to the front porch as he parks along the curb to make sure we get a moment before Aunt Mari arrives on the scene.

As he gets out of the Camaro and strides up the sidewalk, my heart squeezes, taking in the sight of him—flip flops, khaki shorts, a powder-blue polo shirt that perfectly displays his tan muscles, a fresh haircut, and a massive black eye.

"Cole!" I exclaim, running to meet him halfway up the sidewalk, my fingers flying up to hover over his left eye. His eyelid and the skin around it is various shades of purple, with a handful of stitches running under his eyebrow. "What happened?"

"Oh, yeah," he says, pointing to his eye and blushing. "It's kind of stupid. Promise you won't judge me?"

"Of course not," I say, putting a hand on his shoulder while my eyes roam over his injury. The stitches are prominent, and the skin there is angry and red.

"I was playing NVG soccer, using the monocle we look through for night vision. I was thinking about you and got distracted. The depth perception is really bad on night vision goggles and next thing I know, someone ran into me and hit the monocle." He winces as he gingerly taps around the wound with one finger. "Popped my eyebrow open and doc stitched me up right there in the field. I may get a bad scar, our docs aren't known for being great plastic surgeons."

" Osito ," I say, trying to scold him while smiling.

"Do you hate it? My eyebrow scar-to-be?"

"No, not even a little bit," I admit.

He grins, all cute and devilish and kissable, and wraps his hands around my waist, pulling me closer. My arms instinctively go around his neck as he gives me a long, tight squeeze, the kind of hug you give when you don't ever want it to end. Butterflies fill my body as I lean into him. He feels incredible, all strength and firm muscle against my curves.

"Hi, Queenie. I missed you," he whispers, sending shivers across my skin.

"Missed you too."

He lets me go in stages, first loosening his upper arms, then dropping his hands to drape around my waist, then taking my hand in his. I think about tilting my chin towards him to ask for a kiss, but Aunt Mari is going to realize he's here any moment now.

"You ready for this?" I ask.

"Yeah, I'm actually pretty excited."

"Do you speak any Spanish?" I think to ask before we walk in.

"Yeah, I'm super fluent," he says, running his hand over his hair.

"You are?!" Is there anything this guy can't do? Is he real? Is he a simulation?

"No, I was being sarcastic," he says nervously.

"I was about to say?—"

The door flies open, and Aunt Mari is standing there in all her cooking glory: colorful apron, dish towel tucked in the waist, and a wooden spoon in hand—red with what I guess is enchilada sauce.

" Hola, ?cómo estás? " she says, half greeting, half challenge. She looks Cole over with an appraising, then appreciative eye.

"Aunt Mari, this is Cole. Cole, this is my great aunt Marisol or Aunt Mari."

" Mucho gusto ," says Cole.

Aunt Mari beams and I look at him in awe.

"Okay, I started learning some Spanish recently," he says with a blush.

"Come in, come in," says Aunt Mari

"Overachiever," I whisper as we squeeze through the door frame together, his low laugh rumbling through me.

The house smells of onions and spice, and a mariachi band plays through the speaker in the corner of the kitchen. Cole and I sit on the bar stools at the island, surveying the spread of dishes. Aunt Mari has made chiles rellenos, enchiladas, rice, and homemade salsa—all my favorites.

"Cole, how did you meet Christiana?" asks Aunt Mari as she takes out some wine glasses.

"Well, we met playing soccer," Cole answers. "Then Tia was helping me study. And now we like to…go for walks on the beach sometimes?" He looks at me with a grimace of panic and I shrug and nod reassuringly. That is what we do, it's not like we're hiding anything.

Aunt Mari chuckles and says to me in blatant English, "You have this man and you go for a walk?"

I shoot her a wide-eyed look that begs her to stop any and all suggestive comments. I glance over at Cole and catch him hiding a grin behind his hand.

My dad embarrassed me plenty of times when I was growing up—in front of friends, in front of boys I liked. But I always wondered what my mom would have done in the same circumstances, if she would have been cool, or if she would have been as embarrassing as my dad—or even worse.

Aunt Mari is now seemingly bent on giving me the full experience, so if I ever felt like I was missing out, she's making up for it. I've tuned out of the conversation for a moment, and when I tune back in, Aunt Mari is asking Cole if he makes good money, and he's explaining the Navy pay system based on rank and how much he makes each paycheck. Like, actual numbers. Great—just when I thought this couldn't get more embarrassing.

"You want wine?" she asks.

"No thank you," Cole says politely. I shake my head. The last thing I need right now is alcohol.

Aunt Mari shrugs. "I'm going to have some wine."

She goes around the corner to her wine rack in the front entrance, and I take the chance to put my hand on Cole's knee.

"I'm so sorry if she's getting too personal."

He smiles at me and puts his hand over mine. "It's fine. Actually, I love it. You know me—I'll talk about anything, anywhere, anytime. I chat up this beautiful midfielder on my soccer team about random stuff all the time."

"Oh, you think I'm beautiful?" I tease back.

"Mmhmm," he says, and his eyes drop down to my smile, his wide pink lips reflexively mirroring mine.

"Okay, I'll open this wine and then we'll eat," Aunt Mari announces, and we back away from each other. "Cole…Cole, you have another name, a middle name? Something more Spanish?"

"My middle name is Stephen," Cole offers.

" Perfecto , Esteban then. Can you take this to the table?" She hands him the dish of enchiladas, which he obligingly takes to the dining room.

"Aunt Mari, his name is Cole," I say to her in a stage whisper.

"Oh, let me have this, Christiana," she whispers back with a twinkle in her eyes. "He's a good boy. He's not offended."

"Can you not call him Esteban the whole night?" I plead.

"I make no promises," she says, grabbing her wine glass and leading the way to the dining room.

I take the seat next to Cole on the left-hand side of the table, and Aunt Mari sits at the head. He reaches under the table and rests his hand on my leg for a moment. The warmth of his palm is comforting, along with the reassuring weight of his hand.

This is all okay. He's okay. I can relax.

Aunt Mari tones down her eccentric great aunt performance a bit as we fill our plates, and I find myself enjoying her interactions with Cole. He's so warm and friendly, I can tell Aunt Mari is quickly joining Team Cole, despite all her warnings about the Navy men around Crown Island.

Cole has the gift of conversation, and he asks Aunt Mari about her life, learning for himself about her and Uncle Gustavo, how they came to live on Crown Island, and a bit about our expansive family tree.

Aunt Mari reciprocates and asks about Cole's job and why he chose it. I'm proud of the way his character and altruism gently shine through as he tells his story.

All through our dinner conversation, he includes me by asking questions and looking me in the eye. I smile and nod and contribute, all the while content to have him physically near, to hear his laugh in person, to watch the sides of his eyes crinkle when he smiles.

"Your family is in California?" Aunt Mari asks Cole, when we've all pushed our plates away.

"My mom and my two brothers live near Bearstone Lake. My dad passed away very suddenly a few years ago." I reach for his hand where it rests on his leg and squeeze it. He squeezes back.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Aunt Mari says, and her voice conveys how much she means it. "It's been hard for you?"

Cole nods, not able to say anything for a moment.

"Are you the oldest boy?"

"No, I'm a middle child."

"Ah, you're a good son."

Cole shrugs, and I squeeze his hand again to let him know I agree.

"What makes you interested in my Christiana?" she asks, switching the conversation with no warning. I nearly spit out my water.

Cole laughs, with a hint of nervousness. "Um, well, she's obviously beautiful. She's a strong woman, but she can also be kind and gentle. She's smart. Life hasn't always been kind to her, but she keeps going, and she's not one to complain. I mean, there's tons of things I could say, I could keep going all night. And I feel like the more I get to know her, the more I learn about how special she is."

I'm panicking, shooting pleading looks to Aunt Mari to shut this down. Hearing praise about myself has always made me uncomfortable, but this is over-the-top. It's too much. But of course, instead of bailing me out, Aunt Mari throws me into the ring.

"And what do you see in him ?" she says. I have to take another sip of water before I can continue. What do I like about Cole? An infinite number of little things, but how can I match what he said?

"He's nice, polite, kind," I say slowly. I'm butchering this. "I appreciate his honesty and openness. He genuinely cares about people. He's not…dumb."

"Thank you," Cole chimes in laughing.

"I'm so sorry," I say, laughing along with him. What is wrong with me? "Let me try again. Um, he's strong, determined, caring, smart, thoughtful. He doesn't take everything too seriously, just the right things."

Aunt Mari laughs at my feeble attempts to explain the draw Cole has for me.

" Corazón , the boy is handsome, I mean qué guapo , and he has a beautiful heart, and he loves his family and he works hard and he takes care of people who are hurt."

"Well, yeah, I was going to say all those things too," I add. "Oh, and I like that he's protective and willing to take a stand about things he believes in. Like not harassing people while ordering coffee."

"I do believe in that," Cole says with a chuckle.

Saying all of this out loud in front of someone, a witness, makes it more real. I like him, who he is, what he stands for, his character and values. I admire him and I'm attracted to him.

Something is shifting between us. I find myself focusing on Cole's brown eyes. There's a rope being looped around our hearts, pulling them together, like pulling a boat back into its slip in the harbor.

Aunt Mari chuckles to herself and pours another glass of wine. "Okay, now we see how good you are at washing dishes. I'll let you two be alone, stay as long as you'd like, Esteban . Christiana, rest well." Cole stands and thanks her for dinner, and she gives him besos . Then she leans over my chair and whispers in my ear, "I like him for you," before kissing my cheek goodnight and sauntering down the hall.

And then it's Cole and me, alone. He leans his elbow on the table and rests his head in his hand, staring at me with a cute, dopey smile. I copy it and stare him down. Then his smile shifts and unmistakable desire fills his eyes.

I haven't kissed him in weeks and I never thought I would be so desperate for a kiss. I want him to make his move just as much as he does. I drop my eyes to his lips, watching them curve into a hint of a rakish grin. I could lean closer, make it a bit easier.

Cole slaps a hand on the table and stands. "Right, kitchen isn't going to clean itself, and I feel like Aunt Mari won't give me her stamp of approval until I conquer it."

He grabs the plates and silverware off the table and carries them off to the kitchen while I nearly tip out of my seat as he leaves me hanging. What a freakin' tease.

"Sit back, I'll take care of these," Cole says from the kitchen.

Well, I'm not going to sit here by myself. I make my way to the kitchen, bringing the other dishes and our two glasses to the sink for Cole to wash.

I take a seat on a barstool, a perfect vantage point to oversee Cole's dishwashing skills. He's obviously not new to kitchen duty and will make short work of everything. Maybe even shorter, if properly motivated. I watch him scrub the rice pot, and his upper arms look like they're putting in a lot of effort.

"Are you flexing?" I ask.

"No," he says emphatically, his neck and face turning bright red.

"You are!" I say in triumph, then wave him off. "You're already hot. You don't need to overdo it."

His hands pause in the soapy water. "You think I'm hot?"

I roll my eyes, but my cheeks are flaming, giving me away.

"Why are the dishes multiplying?" he grumbles in frustration, scrubbing vigorously.

"What do you think of my great aunt?" I ask.

He smiles, his face softening. "I think she's great. She's funny and confident. I never know what she's going to say next."

"You don't mind her calling you Esteban ?"

Cole laughs. "No, that was hilarious. Don't tell Denny, though, he loves to latch on to nicknames."

"What about Luko?"

"You know Luko isn't his real name, right?"

"Really?"

Cole shakes his head as he rinses off the plates and loads them in the dishwasher.

"It's just a nickname."

"What's his real name?"

"It's Russian, it's spelled v-a-d-i-m, pronounced vah-DEEM."

"Vadim? Wait, Denny called him the Russian bear. Is he really Russian?"

Cole nods. "He's first generation American, I think. His parents were political refugees."

"Wow, interesting."

Not even half as interesting as the prospect of kissing Cole. Luko's immigration history has nothing on the anticipation building in my body with each dish Cole cleans and sets in the drying rack or dishwasher.

I can see he's going to run out of space in the drying rack, so I come around the island and take the towel off the oven door. Cole passes a serving bowl to me and I start drying. It's still warm from the hot water he used to rinse it off. I'm about to put it back in the cabinet when a warm hand gently encircles my elbow, takes the bowl, and sets it on the counter.

Cole looms over me, guiding me backwards until I'm pressed against the counter. His broad chest takes up my whole field of vision, and when I remember to inhale, his cologne makes my senses go taut with anticipation.

He raises his hands to cup my face and tilt my chin up, then looks into my eyes for seconds that seem like hours. I don't care if I drown in the depths of his brown eyes. There are thoughts swirling in my head about us. I want that feeling again, the sense of lostness and oneness that I can only get from kissing him. It's been too long.

His gaze drops from my eyes, he steps closer, and finally he kisses me, gentle, sweet and precious. His lips are impossibly soft and smooth. My hands drift to his waist, then up and over his muscular shoulders to the back of his neck, and I pull him towards me. He is very kind, very respectful, but I need more.

"Kiss me," I murmur, "the way you've dreamed of."

He breaks.

Cole wraps me up in his arms, pressing a deep, furious kiss to my mouth. My entire being melts into him, welcoming the smoldering desire behind each sweep of his lips over mine. His hands move up the back of my head, his fingers pushing into my hair as he pulls me to him, closer, closer, ever closer. He tastes my mouth, and my head swims, my knees wobble.

His hands drop to tighten on my waist, and in one quick motion I'm on the counter, wrapping my legs around him. I kiss him back with breathless wonder. When his lips dip behind my ear and press under my jaw, I run my palms over his velveteen hair, dizzy with the newness, the force, the heat, the want. I think I may lose all sense of time and space.

I thought I understood the definition of an amazing kiss, but Cole is showing me I've only begun to explore what it means to be thoroughly kissed. He will wreck me forever. How can anything else compare to being held, cherished, and so thoroughly kissed I can feel it in my soul? Kissing Cole, being kissed by him, is ruination.

He lifts his head for a moment, just enough to look into my eyes. His pupils are massive black circles, and his chest is rising and falling like he's run a marathon. My heart is racing, my skin is flushed, my lips are tingling.

Us. The euphoria I'll crave forever.

He takes a small step back and I slide off the counter to follow him, his gaze heavy on me. This thing between us—the chemistry, the desire, the passion, whatever was the connection between us up to this point—it's all becoming uncontrollable. It has a momentum of its own.

Cole hooks his fingers in the front pockets of my jumpsuit, pulling me flush against him. He presses his lips to my temple.

"You're it for me," he whispers in a deep, rough voice, trailing heated kisses down to my neck. "Be with me. Be mine."

His words snap me out of the moment and make the lights feel too bright. I pull away from him. The kitchen that was a raging inferno a moment ago is now too cold.

"What do you mean?" My voice is hoarse and hushed.

A tremor runs through him, his arms still locked around my waist.

"Tia, I…"

The instant his expression floods with fear, I put my hands on either side of his face.

"What is it? Why do you look scared?"

"We need to talk," he says with a heavy exhale, pressing his forehead to mine. He laces his fingers through mine and walks us to the front door, a resigned determination in his steps.

"Where are we going?"

"To the beach," he says over his shoulder. "I have some news."

My stomach drops.