First Love, Take Two

After dessert and coffee and enjoying each other’s company, we all parted ways. And seeing that Daniel and I were headed to the same apartment, I went with him.

“While I appreciate it, you don’t have to open every door for me like we’re dating,” I said when Daniel held his car door for me.

“And risk having Grandma throw her shoe at me?”

He hopped into the driver’s seat and eased down the driveway, adding, “I have to drop by the new house to check on some things. It’s on the way to the apartment.”

“Okay.” I kept my eyes set on the country drive ahead.

Although Daniel had seemed fine when we were with his family, he turned quiet now, leading me to believe that we were back to him being pre-church upset. Silence filled the air, suffocating me. I couldn’t keep things to myself forever, and I hated knowing that I’d hurt him.

I steeled myself. “Listen. I know what I did caused you a lot of pain. And the guilt has eroded my confidence and trust and so many other aspects of my life. It made me feel unworthy of forgiveness. And I’m not asking you to forgive me. But I have to forgive myself. I can’t hang on to my mistakes forever. I can’t undo any of them. But I have learned, am continuing to learn, and this whole thing—how I hurt you, how I left, why I left, what I failed to do—has helped me to evolve. Even a little bit. Even if it’s a little late. So you can hate me. It’s fine, I understand. But I can’t hate myself anymore.”

He regarded me from the corner of his eye for a second, his focus still on the road. “I may be upset, but I could never hate you. I get it, but letting go of six years of pain, of six years of being without you, isn’t something a person can heal from overnight.”

“I understand,” I said quietly.

We didn’t speak for a long time, instead letting our words sink in. It wasn’t until we rolled onto his new street that I sat up with interest. The place was almost as large as his parents’ estate. He had his own private street leading up to his own private gate ahead of a long driveway.

The early evening sun shone across the incomplete landscaping. We pulled up to an impressive white-and-cream granite house with black wrought-iron balconies. Opaque glass double front doors on a wraparound porch added a Southern touch. It all seemed vaguely familiar, even the circular driveway where Daniel parked.

“Gorgeous” was an understatement. “Glorious” was more like it. My mouth dropped. I tilted my head to the side and knew right then why this house looked so familiar.

“Do you want to come inside?” Daniel asked when he opened my door and offered a hand.

“Sure,” I said as I took his hand and eased out of the car.

I looked all around, pivoting 360 degrees from the brilliant house to the thicket of trees around the property in a picturesque lot that instantly felt like home. Without warning, I was thrust back to college days of snuggling against Daniel as he drafted. The smell of pencil shavings and the scratch of lead against a drafting pad filled my senses while he shaded detailed oak trees. Those same trees surrounded us now.

Daniel unlocked the front door and showed me in first. “You can leave your shoes on. Workers are still coming and going.”

I nodded and walked inside. I touched the eggshell walls and walked through arched entryways, trembling, my heart faltering. Instead of going to the living room to the right, I walked ahead into the study to the left. I knew this floor plan. I’d never been here before, but I knew every room.

“Daniel,” I said and looked to him with tears in my eyes. “Is this our house?”

He stuffed his hands into his pockets, pressed his lips together, and nodded, pleased.

My heart quivered. Why had he done this? Was he rubbing this in my face? Showing me what we could’ve had all along and what he would have despite me?

“I don’t know about you, but I think we came up with the perfect house,” he said, his eyes wandering across the room and sweeping up to the ceiling.

I slid my shaking fingers across the glass walls. This was the study I’d designed. I wanted glass walls to scribble on, figure out problems, sketch, stick Post-its. On the far wall was a built-in bookcase. There would soon be a sofa in the middle of the room and a desk with a chair near the floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the backyard, at the glistening pool water (once the pool was filled). This was supposed to be where I came to study, to work, to read—a room all my own.

In college, I’d sat with Daniel, my back against his chest, as he drew and outlined everything to my specifications. We’d spent months designing our house, and here he went and built it for himself.

I wandered through the first floor: the living room, dining area, the very large kitchen with two ovens and an indoor grill, and the wall-to-wall windows that opened the entire room to the backyard. Arching terraces would one day be covered in vines and flowers. There would be patio furniture and poolside lounge chairs.

Craning my head back, I could see a balcony that led to the main bedroom, allowing vaulted ceilings in this section of the first floor.

“Do you want to see the upstairs?” he asked, eager to show me with a beckoning smile.

My hands balled into fists.

“No.” I did not want to see our perfect main bedroom with arched ceilings and grand windows, or the garden jacuzzi tub, or the waterfall shower big enough for four people with a bench on the side, finished in granite.

“Oh. Oh, okay,” he said, sounding disappointed. “I have a few things to check on. You can walk around if you want.”

I swerved away, listening to his footfalls fade. I touched the iron railing leading upstairs, imagining how he’d brought our dream to life. How could he do this?

“What do you think?” he asked on the way out of the living room.

“It’s beautiful. Congratulations,” I bit out and went to the main hallway.

Baffled, Daniel stood on the spot for a few seconds before coming after me. He gently took my wrist and pulled me back. “Wait. Is that all?”

I shrugged and averted my gaze in an effort to keep him from seeing the tears welling in my eyes.

He scoffed. “I know we just had a fight, but I expected more. Happiness, joy to see what we’d worked on come to life. Doesn’t this mean anything to you?”

“Yes,” I snapped, tears streaming down my face. “It means you’re going to share our dream house with another woman.”

“What in the hell are you talking about?” he asked. He frowned down at me, seemingly perplexed.

“This was supposed to be our home. We designed it together. But we’re on separate paths and you’re about to move on with Alisha. Why did you build this house? Why didn’t you build your own? Or one with her?”

He cupped my face, swiping his thumbs across my wet cheeks. “Because this is my dream home.”

“It’s mine, too.” I hiccupped. “And it’s real now. Did you bring me here to rub it in my face? Make me look at what I could’ve had?”

“No. I was always going to build this house, and yes, every detail reminds me of you. It reminds me of all the good times we had.”

“For Alisha to enjoy now?” I asked, hating that I was shaking in his arms.

“What are you talking about? Alisha?”

“Your parents want you two to get married, best for everyone’s future. Good for you. Good for her.”

“Why do you sound upset? You…don’t want to get back with me.”

“I don’t want you marrying her, marrying anyone else.”

“Who said I was marrying her?”

“Aren’t you dating the woman your parents want for you?”

He scratched his chin and looked away sheepishly. “Um. No. It was one dinner.”

I scowled. “You made it seem like you were dating.”

“Because I was pissed at you. And you had a boyfriend. I thought you were moving on.” He swallowed hard on those last words.

“You think I don’t still love you?” I yelled, my lips trembling.

His hands landed on my waist, burning through my clothes and searing an imprint into my flesh, forever marked by him. He peered so deeply into my eyes that I felt his presence in my head. He searched my face with intense, imploring eyes the color of chestnuts speckled with amber. He asked slowly, prodding with a hint of longing, “Do you still love me?”

“Yes,” I croaked, my voice weak, hoarse. “I never stopped loving you and every time I see you or even think about you, it kills me. And everything is just so stupid and messed up. And you built this house.” I gestured wildly around us. “I don’t want another woman living in our house. I don’t want to be with someone else. I don’t want you to be with someone else.”

Daniel leaned down, his gaze boring through me before dropping to my mouth. “Then do something about it,” he growled.

His hand fell to my chin. His fingers fluttered down my throat, over the scarf. My breath hitched.

“He never made you feel the way I make you feel. He never understood you at all, why you react the way you do, why you struggle with certain issues. I don’t even have to think about it. I already know. And I know right now that you want me.”

He tilted his head, his lips a hair’s width from mine, and paused. My breath escaped in quick, tortured pants, my hand lifting to stretch over his side. I closed my eyes as he moved a little lower.

I sucked in another breath as soon as his lips touched my jaw. My entire body was set on fire.

His mouth inched closer to my throat as he ran his tongue across my shivering flesh. I clutched his shirt, digging my nails into his back.

“Daniel…” I moaned, my other arm wrapping around his neck to pull him tight, to keep him close.

“I’ve missed the sound of my name on your lips.” He gently pushed me against the wall, my gasp hitting his chin.

Just as he was about to kiss my lips for the first time in years…my stupid phone rang. I just about jumped out of my skin.

“Oh my god!” I blinked a good few times and slid out of his arms to clumsily fish through my purse. I had different ringtones for work, parents, and everyone else, so when the old-school Bollywood song that Papa had a band play for Mummie at their wedding came on, I almost flipped.

“I have to take this. One minute,” I muttered to Daniel as I walked outside. I expected my lungs to continue burning for air between Daniel and anticipating a tongue-lashing from my parents. Surely Yuvan had told his parents, who then told my parents, and all hell was about to break loose.

Instead, Mummie wanted to know if I was coming for dinner this week. She could’ve texted, but if it wasn’t on WhatsApp, she didn’t like it.

“Yes. I’ll be there. Thank you. Okay. Chat later,” I told her and hung up.

“Who was that?” Daniel asked as he locked the house and unlocked the car.

“My mom. It’s like she knows.”

He grinned, but the smile slipped in an instant. “What are we doing here?”

I took a deep breath and exhaled. “I don’t know. My head is clouded with so much. I just…can we pause for a little bit? I have my presentation tomorrow and I need to ace it. I haven’t told my parents about breaking up with Yuvan.”

“Yeah. Of course.” He opened the door for me and we headed to the apartment.

“You’ll do great on your presentation,” he said once we were on the main road.

“Thanks to your help.”

“Nah. It’s all you.”

Silence.

My pulse wouldn’t calm down from that near kiss. I bit my lip and looked away, my mind tripping over itself with the urgent need to devour Daniel with kisses and seal our fate. Could it be…could he truly give me a second chance? While I could forgive myself, I wasn’t sure that I could feel worthy of him again.

“How do you think your parents will handle the news about Yuvan?” he asked.

I chewed on my nail. “Not well. They really like him, and his parents and my parents are good friends. There’s going to be bad blood and I already feel awful. I honestly haven’t had time to think about it.”

His hand landed on my knee in a comforting brush before returning to the wheel. “I think you’re not giving them enough credit. They want what’s best for you, and this guy isn’t it. They’re going to understand, and he needs to understand, too. I don’t get some parents. Why would they allow a rift in their friendship? Sometimes things don’t work out, and better to break it off now than when you’re married. Don’t think their reaction is your fault. Ever.”

I nodded. “You’re right.”

He chuckled. “Look at that. Communication, huh?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

He studied me during a brief red light. “How did this guy take the breakup?”

“Are you asking if I gave him a reason? Yes, I did. I learned. And he just walked off and left it alone. He got called for something at mandir and I left before he was free. He’s texted a few times. A missed call.”

“Wow. So this guy who was planning a future with you didn’t even go after you? Some texts and a missed call is weak.”

I agreed. Not to be dramatic, but had Yuvan felt any panic, remorse, concern? Or did he think this was something I’d get over and crawl back to him?

When we reached the apartment, I went to the bathroom to wash up and do my business while Daniel went into the bedroom. I walked in minutes later, shrugging out of my cardigan with my fingers already on my dress zipper before realizing Daniel was still there. I froze.

He held eye contact and unbuttoned his vest, laying it over the jacket on the edge of the bed. Then he hooked a finger into his tie and undid the knot all the way, slowly pulling one end so that the rest slithered over his neck. It dropped to the bed. My gut tightened.

Then came the untucking of the shirt, the steady unbuttoning of his shirt until it came off. His lips curled into a smile, daring me to keep watching, provoking me to make a move.

I greedily took in the sight as he stripped off the undershirt. His body…good freaking lord. Then his fingers found his belt, then the zipper…

I snapped back to reality and spun toward the dresser, busying myself with removing my bracelet and watch and organizing bottles. But the thing about this dresser was that there was a big mirror in front of me. Daniel was watching me through the mirror, watching me watch him as he stepped out of his pants. And I was staring pretty hard. Speaking of which, he looked…quite ready.

He walked between me and the bed and pressed his chest to my back, his gaze meeting mine in the reflection of the dresser mirror. “Need help?”

His hands went up my arms and his forearm crossed my chest to untie the scarf. He plucked it gingerly out of its knot, and the silk against silk slid easily. He drew his arm back across my chest, taking the scarf with him, gliding it across my skin, leaving a trail of goose bumps in its wake, and set it on the dresser.

He slid his hand up my back, clasping the heavy metal coin attached to the top of the zipper, and effortlessly slid it down. The fabric filleted open to reveal the strip of my fancy, lacy Parisian bra. How many times had his lips trekked across my skin? Exploring every inch of me?

My grip on the small moisturizer bottle tightened. Just as his lips made contact with my shoulder, his tongue sliding down my shoulder blade, I jumped when a pop sounded.

“Oh, no!” I yelped, gripping my dress by mistake and stepping away. My hands, and the front of my slumped dress now gathered in my arms, were covered in a honey-tinged goop.

I ran to the bathroom, my dress half falling off.

Tinted SPF moisturizer in bronze-honey was a nightmare to get off my hands. I went through half a bottle of hand soap scrubbing away! And this dress? Ruined to crap. There was no way!

I stripped off the dress as quickly as possible and dunked the stained front of it into a sink full of water and soap and scrubbed. It just made the makeup smear across the cream-and-green fabric.

After at least twenty minutes of washing and rinsing and rewashing, I gave up. I marched out of the bathroom and tossed the dress into the hamper. I’d have to find time to take it to the dry cleaner’s tomorrow, but I wasn’t holding out much hope.

I turned off the living room lights and returned to the bedroom exhausted from an emotional day, only to find Daniel snug as a bug under the covers.

“What are you doing?” I asked. “It’s early, still.”

“It’s been a long day with a lot of revelations, and I feel like resting.” His gaze wandered down my body. “Since when do you walk around in your Parisian underwear?”

Oh, lord. I was standing in front of him half-naked, wasn’t I? In lacy, not padded, sexy underwear from Paris. In front of a bed that was currently occupied by a shirtless, and perhaps pants-less, Daniel.

“What are you talking about? I always wear nice underwear,” I asserted, even though my drawer of beige greatness begged to differ. I lifted my chin, pulled back my shoulders, and walked to the dresser as confidently and undeterred as possible, pushing aside that it was really cold in the room.

I fished around in a drawer for something to wear and…what was this? Sexy camisole with very short shorts in sapphire blue. Daniel’s favorite color.

I slipped into the outfit, which didn’t cover much more than my bra and panties had, cleared my throat, and got into bed while Daniel watched my every movement. The heat in his eyes was enough to ignite a fire, disintegrating the chill. A man hadn’t looked at me with such hunger since—well, since Daniel. To be blatantly desired and appreciated by him felt nice, empowering, making me forget that I was dying by way of cramps and as bloated as a whale. The bedspread was tucked to my chin and my right hand felt for the edge of the bed. Two more inches over and I might as well sleep on the floor.

“So much room,” Daniel teased. “Don’t you want to move over?”

“No, thank you. I’m comfortable.” I wasn’t. I wanted to be closer to him, in his arms, smothered in his kisses, devoured by his touch. But I didn’t deserve him.

He raised himself onto his elbow, his temple cradled in his hand. “I won’t bite. Well, unless you want me to.”

Butterflies thrashed against my insides at the thought of his lips on my body. I suddenly burst into laughter. “Remember what happened the last time you tried to bite me? I accidentally jumped and backhanded you.” That had been an erotic rendezvous, until he nipped my hip.

He dropped his face into the pillow and groaned. “Mood killer.”

“Heh.” I wiggled deeper into the covers, grinning.