Page 53 of Falling Backwards (The Edge of Us #1)

It does turn out to keep snowing.

We’re surprised and delighted by that, as well as by Mr.

Polk deciding to close Lucent until things clear up, out of an abundance of caution for employees and guests alike.

I wasn’t kidding when I talked about people around here not knowing how to act when it snows since we’re unused to it; Mr.

Polk seems to agree.

Even though I wouldn’t say we get a lot of snow this time around, Maggie and I don’t get out and try to drive in it.

We spend our time either playing in the fresh powder or being comfy and kissy and lazy indoors—except ‘lazy’ still involves doing our dumbbell exercises and, for some dumbass reason, cleaning my apartment.

Not that I think keeping a clean home is unimportant; I know it is, and she remembers that from quite some time ago when we played our version of Twenty Questions at the park.

During snow days, though? Cleaning is boring.

I will admit to letting her do a little more than her fair share of it because of that and because I’ve learned it’s easier than me doing what I consider to be sufficient work only for her to still go behind me and adjust something.

I bicker with her about it at first, but then I give up because she shoulder-drops me and I decide I don’t care if she wants to dry the inside of my shower after I’ve scrubbed and rinsed it.

Besides, she’s really not wrong about the area staying cleaner longer if you don’t let water droplets sit everywhere after you’re done in there.

But I still make her pay for the little bit of bossiness by tickling her.

Her laughter filling my home while she wears my sweatpants and one of my t-shirts, her soft body under my fingers, her hair fixed in a messy bun that lets me easily steal a grinning kiss from the scar on her neck….

God, what a life I have.

I take it back: I do wish the snow would hang around until Christmas.

—

“Do you wanna meet my parents?”

Maggie asks beneath the noise of Jim Carrey’s goofy Grinchness.

I look away from the TV and across from me. I see her carefully creasing the festive paper at one end of the box she’s wrapping. If it weren’t for the pink in her cheeks, I would think I imagined her question, would think she was too focused on her task to have said anything.

Those pink cheeks, though. And those eyes glancing up to me beneath her bangs, shy and hopeful. And those words playing back in my head, echoing a very real invitation.

It all makes me happy. I took her around my mom—and am doing it again on Christmas Day—and she wants to take me around her parents too.

“Yeah, I do,” I answer.

Now her look is longer than just a glance. Happy, too, she smiles.

“They’ll be here in a couple days, on the twenty-third. You and I are going to your mom’s house on Christmas Day?”

“Yep.”

“Okay. We can see my mom and dad on Christmas Eve, if you want. Maybe after our little thing with our friends?”

I start to nod my approval, then speak on a sudden thought.

“Or maybe they’d like to come with us to my mom’s?”

Maggie’s smile lights up into a grin I can’t help mirroring. She reaches for her phone.

“Oh, I love that! I think they will, too, but I’ll text and make sure!”

I dig my phone from my pocket and say.

“Cool! I’ll ask too,”

despite knowing my mom will be beyond excited by this idea.

Indeed, in short minutes, we have a plan settled.

And I have my hands and knees placed strategically through gifts, scissors, and giftwrapping essentials, have the strings of my hoodie in gently tugging fingers, so I can come close to the beautiful girl who is saying she loves me and onto whose cheek a speck of green glitter has snuck.

I swipe at it with my thumb but don’t yet check to see if that takes care of it. Too busy saying I love her, too, and then getting kissed—and kissed well.

Priorities and all that.

—

Ah, Merritt’s. How I have missed thee.

While I wait for Maggie and the others to arrive, I gaze around. It’s busy as hell in here. Almost overwhelmingly so, honestly. The Wednesday night margarita specials plus the holiday goings-on have drawn quite a crowd. I was crazy lucky to be able to snag a corner booth for our group. Now I just need my people to join me so I’m not chilling all alone at this big table like a douchebag.

Not counting my brief visit with Jayden (which doesn’t count, in my opinion), tonight is the first time Maggie and I will be back at the bar since Kyle came up. We’ve been looking forward to it. This place has always been one we greatly enjoyed and spent a fair amount of time in, even though we were irked to so often run into each other here outside of work.

I realize with a swooping stomach that this is actually the booth we sat in with our friends the night she first became afraid of Kyle. I sat next to her because she needed me close by until it was time to leave.

Since it’s currently just me sitting here, I’ve been planted in the middle of the curved seat. I look now at where the two of us were that night. I remember what she was wearing, and how she chewed on her straw and set my already tense nerves even more on-edge, and that I’d gotten the strongest urge to touch her where Kyle could see, and that she was right about dipping pretzel bites in mustard being delicious….

I can’t wait to see her tonight. Late this morning was the last time I was with her; she, Emma, and Joy spent the day together because they wanted to shop and take their time getting ready to come out to this thing.

In fact, they and Paxton should be here any—

“Dude, Luke, nice table!”

that very guy’s voice cuts through the noise of the place. I look up from that empty spot in the booth and see my friend with his hands out in surprise.

“I thought for sure we’d all be split up around the room!”

Grinning, I reach out, and so does he. We smack our hands into a brief greeting hold.

“Yeah, good thing we didn’t meet up outside.”

I give him a half-pointed look.

He sits.

“You know, I heard what you said about the first to arrive getting a table instead of being cold waiting outside for everyone else, and a small part of me was like, ‘Dang, my boy’s kind of a little bitch,’ but then—”

A laugh bursts out of me.

“Then you realized I’m at least a smart little bitch?”

He cackles and holds up his hands.

“Yeah, man, I was too judgy! ’Cause you were right that someone needed to claim us a table and that folks don’t need to be hanging out in this balls-cold weather.”

“May as well have kept snowing.”

“For real. That was fun.”

Sure was, I think warmly.

“You ready to have a good time tonight?” he asks.

“Yep.”

I shrug.

“Not that I haven’t been having a great time elsewhere lately, but yeah, it’ll be nice to hang out here.”

Paxton winks, but his smile is sincere.

“I get that. I’m happy as shit for you and Maggie. And I’m sure she’s so relieved to be able to come back to the bar without worrying about Kyle.”

“Hell yeah, dude.”

With my own honesty, I add.

“And thank you. You gave me the last push I needed to get her back. Get her for real.”

I point at him.

“Your first drink is on me.”

“Aw, thanks, man! You ain’t gotta do that. I was happy to help.”

“I know, but I got you.”

As if on cue, our server pops up and asks if we want to order anything or if what I said earlier about waiting for more tablemates still stands. We decide to go ahead, and I order Maggie a mojito with extra lime while I’m at it. She and I want to try some holiday drinks, but later; a rum and ginger ale is what I want to start the night with, and she’ll be happy to do the same with her own favorite.

Our server leaves and Paxton whistles lowly in sudden appreciation.

“Oh, the girls are here, and look at Emma.”

But it’s Maggie my eyes snap into searching for as I peer towards the entryway, because where there’s Emma, there’s….

I break into a smile, vaguely hearing Paxton amend what he said with how he knows I’m not actually as interested in Emma’s appearance as he is. And he’s right. Since the trio of girls is in my line of sight, I can see Maggie’s friends definitely look holiday-cool in their own rights, but my girl may as well be in a spotlight. Compared to Emma and Joy, she’s dressed in muted colors and little glitz, but she’s still as striking as ever.

Her eyes find mine from across the room. As a smile overtakes her, too, I belatedly realize there had been an air of reluctance about her moments ago; I play back that she seemed not to be excited about how busy and thick with noise Merritt’s is. She points me out to her friends and they all come this way, and…

…and I cannot keep my eyes off the way she moves.

It, too, is as mesmerizing as ever and it’s just a little bit different.

She almost looks confident.

I have to actively close my hanging-open mouth as her hair and eyes and dress glint in the warm lights dotting the ceiling—really, it’s like she is in a spotlight—and where did she find that dress? It’s a change from what she often wears, even from the dresses I’ve seen her wear for work. Her coat is over her arm, so I can see this one is somehow black and dark green and deepest gold all at once, fitted up top with a strip of sheer black around her middle teasing my eyes with a glimpse of her waist, and then the skirt is looser where it flows to mid-thigh over her tights.

Greetings hit the air, passing between the other girls and Paxton. I think I hear my name, so I absently toss a nod at them all, but I’m mainly focused on sliding out of the booth. I want to get an even better look at Maggie, steal a hug and kiss from her, tell her how lovely she looks, and allow everyone else into their seats so she and I can sit where we were the last time we had this table.

Yet she’s the one who rushes me—I only manage to stand before my waist is in her hands and her eager glance at my lips brings on an equally eager kiss that I relish for moments far too short. And when it passes, she’s the one who speaks first.

“Hi. You look amazing.”

The compliment is soft beneath all the noise in here, as well as quite surprising. The fanciest thing about me is my black button-down shirt.

“Hi and thank you, but what?”

I slip some of her hair behind her ear.

“Have you seen yourself?”

Her smile is soft, too, as a blush comes to her cheeks. She nods a little.

“I feel pretty,”

she admits.

I have to kiss her one more time. It’s hard to make it just one more time, to move my lips to her cheek instead of letting them stay where they want to.

“You put the word ‘pretty’ to shame,”

I tell her.

“Now and always.”

I feel her smile grow.

“Thank you.”

So soft. So sweet. So spectacular.

Pulling back, I return her smile. Then I gesture to the booth.

“Wanna sit? You’ve got a mojito on the way.”

I notice that the For Luke Only brightness has been in how she’s looked at me over the last few moments, and now a new kind joins it. “Yes!”

she says in answer and enthusiasm.

She slips into the booth and into the place she sat last time. I do the same. Then I finally tune in to the rest of our group; I remember that night well, so I know Maggie and I are the only ones sitting in the same spots as then. Although it would’ve been neat if they were, too, I like that it’s just us.

Now that she and I are out of our little bubble, we can each exchange proper hellos with the others. Chatter about everyone’s day and the evening ahead unfolds as easily as Maggie’s hand finds mine.

All of us being together will make for an entertaining few hours. The special drink menu is full of interesting concoctions to try. And we probably won’t win any of the prizes in the giveaway, but we’ll still take our chances.

“I can’t wait to have tons of fun with you all!”

Joy says cheerfully, clapping her hands.

Paxton gives a heartier clap alongside Emma’s low whoop. Maggie hunches her shoulders with a smile I match.

We can’t wait either.

—

Well, I thought I couldn’t wait to have tons of fun with everyone.

As it has turned out, over the last hour and a half, I’ve had the most fun with Maggie.

Not that Paxton, Emma, and Joy aren’t being lively or that the bar isn’t delivering on a festive night. Conversations and laughter have been abundant, and the Merritts brought fun little holiday-themed games and crafts to all the tables. Christmas songs have played, popular versions mixed in with ones that are fresher and more upbeat and interesting—some even remixed—by artists of all kinds, which has helped the mind-numbing familiarity of them feel a lot less intense.

Over and over again, though, Maggie and I have been drawn to each other. I’d say we keep getting distracted by each other, but that’s not accurate; rather, we keep briefly being distracted by everything else before coming back together, picking back up on our own chats and laughs.

Looks.

Touches.

None of it has been enough to isolate us from the others. It has all been enough to make me realize as the evening has grown louder and more packed with people, and as the warmth of this room has risen bit by bit, and as our friends have gotten ahead of us on partying because she and I have only had one drink, that I…. I’ve realized I….

My skin tingles from Maggie’s thumb gently swiping back and forth over my hand.

I go from absently staring at our cleared pretzel-bites plate to looking at where our fingers are entwined on my thigh. Then I slip my gaze up over the still-awe-inspiring fabric of her dress, the elegantly swirling pattern on which hasn’t stopped being tempting to my fingertips. I want like a motherfucker to trace all those flourishes over her, slowly, delicately—trace them until she’s breathless and blushing and begging me to do it to her bare skin instead.

That desire makes me feel breathless.

All my desires for her do.

I try not to let it show as my eyes finally reach her face, but I feel like I’ve been caught when I find her already looking at me.

Strangely, she looks shy, like she feels caught as well.

I wonder why.

I want to know why.

Our friends explode into laughter about something, startling us out of our little moment. Then a nearby table does the same thing even more loudly—some of those people shriek-laugh—and Maggie cringes outwardly just as I do inwardly.

Paxton, Emma, and Joy don’t seem to notice. They’re still talking over each other in their chaotic conversation. A couple minutes ago, it was about some movie Maggie and I have never seen, and now it seems to be about dumb shit they’ve done while drunk.

I suspect we could contribute nicely to that topic, but I don’t have much interest in trying to. And I watch her tune in to them for a second, then smile slightly, her shoulders moving with a single laugh too quiet to hear, before turning her attention back to me.

The shift in her eyes is so, so obvious.

Just as she is far more compelling to me than the night out we planned on having, I am far more compelling to her.

“Loud,”

she says.

“Loud in here.”

I nod.

“It’s all kind of a lot.”

She nods, too, right as Paxton makes a loud announcement, indeed.

“Let’s do some shots!”

We look over and see Joy raising the roof. Emma finishes drinking some water and then says.

“Bring it on!”

Paxton points at us.

“You two gonna have one with us?”

Emma also points, eyebrows lifting.

“Y’all gotta catch up! You’ve only had one drink!”

Now Joy says.

“Yessss! Maggie, didn’t you wanna try the Sugar Plum Fairy thing?”

Hm. Shots? No, thanks. I know the things that aren’t feeling very fun to me tonight might feel different if I were on the same level as the others, but I don’t want that. I’m not into it like I expected to be. Still, there are things on the holiday menu that Maggie and I were interested in, so if she’s still interested, I am too.

We look at each other. Beneath the renewed chatter of our friends, I start to tell her I’m down to try one festive beverage—I already know I’ll be done after that—when she says the same thing in her own words.

Then her eyes soften…and…settle. They settle with something that stirs me.

It’s like a touch, this look. Over my face. Against my lips. Beneath my shirt, even.

This time when her gaze comes back to mine and she looks like she feels caught, I don’t have to wonder why.

I’m not the only one of us who has started wanting something very different from a night with friends, drinks, and crowds. I’ve been realizing I just want her, and she has been realizing she just wants me too.

As if the way she’s been looking at me isn’t telling enough, I can also read the flex of her hand around mine, her slightly shallower and shakier breaths, the sweet color blooming in her cheeks.

Neither of us speaks on it, though.

There’s no way we would—not now. The tension that’s whispering up between us in earnest is not for anyone else to listen to.

Our server reappears. We rein ourselves in and ask for our second, and last, drinks of the night. Paxton and the girls order drinks as well as shots, which almost makes me shudder, but I’m glad they’re all having fun…though I don’t know how much more noise I can stand.

I don’t know how much more of not being alone with Maggie I can stand.

Right as I reach for my water, my ears barely pick up on her voice once again coming beneath all the other sounds around us. Her words bring relief—and then comes a swell of heat, because the things I feel for her get fuel thrown right on them.

‘My knee hasn’t been hurting.’

It’s the way she said it that’s firing through me: quiet, weighted, breathy. Her tone wasn’t cheerful and audible to everyone at our table.

She spoke only to me; I’m the only one she wants to know that news because of the meaning only I can get from it.

Putting my drink of water on hold, I curl my fingers into a light fist on the table and turn a look to her. It takes me a good few seconds to find my voice.

“It hasn’t?”

I ask just as lowly.

“Well, it still does if I try to kneel or…you know, put weight on it like that…but otherwise….”

She shakes her head.

Excellent.

Significant.

Her not being in pain is excellent for her, and it’s significant for us. It…means we can be as physically intimate as we want to be. We don’t have to hold back from each other anymore.

I tell her.

“I’m so glad to hear that.”

“I’m glad to be able to say it,”

she replies in that same gently intense tone from before.

Just as I’m thinking I need to get a hold of myself before I embarrass both of us, she takes a breath and visibly works to compose her own self.

“Do you remember this booth?”

she asks more lightly.

That brings a smile right out of me, as if my skin isn’t warming in a way that has nothing to do with how busy this place is and everything to do with how much I crave her.

She smiles, too, and I’m a fool for the way it looks with that pink in her cheeks.

I untangle our hands so I can wrap my arm around her shoulders for a half-hug she instantly returns.

“Oh, I remember,”

I assure her.

“I remember all of that night.”

“Really? And that this is exactly where we sat?”

“Yep. Except I wasn’t brave enough to put my arm around you that time.”

Love is radiant in her expression.

Softly, she says.

“This time is much better.”

I know I’m mirroring that look on her face. Can’t help it. Wouldn’t if I could.

“Yes,” I agree.

I also can’t help planting a kiss on the tip of her nose.

“Yes, it is.”