A Matter of Forever (8 page)

“Gee, thanks for the reminder. I still don’t see how that prohibits me from having a party.”

“Do you want me to arrange the kitchen for you?”

It’s cute how he phrased that as a choice. “Please, Will, would you like to arrange my kitchen?”

“I’d be happy to. How is it you two have no cooking utensils? Not even ...” He opens and shuts a few more cabinets. “A single pan? You two are pathetic. Love alone won’t feed you, Chloe.”

I make a pan and hold it out. “Voilà!”

He won’t even take it from my hand. “Don’t insult me. This is a shoddy dime-store pan. If you’re not going to let me go with you to a proper kitchen store, at least let me show you some photos of what you really need so you can make the right ones.”

The pan is gone in an instant. “Fine.”

Over the next few hours, he and I construct a kitchen worthy of a professional chef. It’s hilarious, considering I can’t cook to save my life. Too bad cooking can’t be learned through osmosis. In the end, though, it’s beautiful: all clean, white lines with yellow and turquoise Italian accents.

Now that the groceries have arrived, and I’ve sufficiently begged him, Will is hard at work making dinner for us. “You’re a handy woman to have around, Chloe Lilywhite.”

“I could say the same about you.” I lean against the counter and smile up at him. I like watching Will cook; for months, when I was in Alaska, I’d spend hours just hanging out with him while he did his thing. “When you finally get your own place, I’ll return the favor and make you whatever you like.”

“Ah yes.” He grins ruefully as he minces garlic. “When Will finally becomes a big boy and moves out of his Daddy’s place and all.”

“That’ll be the day, right?” And then, sincerely, “I’m glad you two are nearby, though.”

His knife scrapes the garlic into a new pan already heating on the stovetop that meets his exact specifications. “I would have expected you to want us far away by now.”

“Don’t be stupid. I’m always going to want you guys nearby.” I lean over and kiss him on the cheek. “You’re my family. I love you two.”

Even though he jokes about this, I know it pleases him. He loves me, too.

Because I love him so much, I ask carefully, “How are you doing, anyway?”

Delicious smells waft up from the sizzling pan. “Brilliant, thanks.”

Liar. I pass over an onion I’ve recently peeled for him. “Tell me the truth.”

A sharp knife slices through the onion’s skin as he considers our long standing game. Tell me has gotten us through rough times in the past, allowing us both avenues to express ourselves we might otherwise have closed off. I have to wait nearly a full minute before he says, “I’m at a loss right now, if you want to know the truth.”

I get to work on cutting up pieces of chicken as I wait for him to finish.

“History is a complicated thing,” he continues quietly. “It makes us who we are today.”

Agreed.

“History defines much of our actions, good and bad. It also shapes the way we see our world.” His knife flies across the brand spankin’ new cutting board I made just an hour before. “It’s funny how we often look at our past and the actions therein with rose colored glasses, even if we know better.”

He’s talking about Becca, and of the rich and complicated history they share.

“Sometimes, it’s hard to reconcile the present and a possible future you never expected with the past and all the wishes it held.” Tiny bits of onion join the garlic sizzling in olive oil. “Tell me: how did you know Jonah was the one for you?”

It’s a complex question, to be sure, but also deceptively easy. “Our history.” I shove the cut chicken toward him. “And what that meant and still means to me.” His mouth opens, but I continue, “But more than that, my heart told me its truth. It told me that, when I looked to the future, I wanted him by my side.”

“And yet you still love Kellan.” It isn’t a question, though.

“I do,” I admit readily. Gods, how I do. “And there’s history there with him, too. But as wonderful as that history is, it doesn’t lead to the path I want to look back on when I’m old.”

His head tilts to me as he adds the chicken to the pan, along with a dash of Astrid’s wine. “If Jonah weren’t here, though. If it’d just been Kellan ...”

I don’t take offense to his questions. This isn’t about him questioning whether or not I chose the right man to stand by me in my life. “The thing about history,” I tell him, “is that sometimes it’s best to carry it over and continue forth, and other times it’s best to leave it in the past.”

“That’s incredibly unhelpful. You’d make a terrible counselor.”

I playfully swat his arm. Then, more soberly, “You need to decide what makes you happy, Will. Only you can do that.” I nudge his shoulder with mine. “For what it’s worth, I do have an opinion. But that’s all it is—an opinion. Yours is the one that matters.”

He’s quiet for a long moment as he places a lid on the pan. “What about hers?”

“One person’s opinion does not a relationship make. It takes two to tango.”

“Something smells awfully good.”

I turn to find Jonah strolling into to the kitchen looking like if he has to be on a phone one minute longer, he might run screaming from the apartment. “As a thank-you for letting him arrange our kitchen,” I tell him, “Will has graciously agreed to make us dinner.”

Will rolls his eyes. “Ah yes, that’s exactly how it went down. Surely, there was no Chloe saying,”—and here he attempts a falsetto—
“Oh, Will. I’m so hungry and we have nothing to eat. Please feed me. Please. You don’t want us to starve, do you?”

My fiancé looks down at the lonely plate of cookies plaintively. “You ate them all, didn’t you?”

Whoops. The three that I left him didn’t quite make it back to the office.

“She did,” Will says cruelly. “She might have even licked the crumbs off the plate.”

I wander over to where Jonah’s standing and lace my fingers through his empty belt loops. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

“Later,” Will stresses. “When I’m safely downstairs.”

I press a quick kiss against Jonah’s mouth. “He made pancakes this morning for your brother and we weren’t invited.”

I love that Jonah actually pretends to look wounded at this.

But Will rolls his eyes again. His sadness retreats, at least for the time being.

Later that night, I wander out on the balcony just outside our bedroom. Karnach, the rotunda in the middle of Annar that houses the Council, is lit up like a fairy tale before me. I lean against the rails and stare out at it, marveling over how, no matter how many times I see this sight, I’m always dazzled.

“Whatcha doing?”

Jonah’s come to join me outside, looking exhausted, which makes sense; after dinner, he’d been called into yet another videoconference. I worry about this stress load, and of how the Council asks so much of him at just twenty years of age. Most of the kids our age we went to high school with are probably at college right now, living it up. They’ve chosen their career paths and are working toward them; perhaps they’re even still undecided. They’re most likely dabbling with part-time jobs and going to parties and clubs with their friends. They’re not being asked to oversee the welfare of quadrillions of people on seven different planes of existence. I envy them these years, as they get to choose their paths.

Jonah and I will never get to choose what our careers will be. We’ll never get to choose not to be on the Council; I’ve learned that lesson the hard way. And now here he is, dog-tired after twelve good hours of meetings, when I’m sure so many other twenty-year-olds are playing video games and drinking beer with their buddies. I think that’s part of what I love most about him, though. Jonah is one of the strongest, best people I know.

I motion him to join me at the railing. “Just thinking.”

He tucks wispy hairs behind both my ears. “About?”

“About how glad I am to be here with you.”

Parts of me go liquid and golden and warm when his dimple appears. “Yeah?”

I tug him closer. “Yeah.”

As the mild breezes gracing Annar’s gorgeous summer nights lately blow around us and stars wink in the inky black sky above, our mouths meet, hot and lovely. His fingers tangle in my hair, twisting gently; mine run down his arms to the waistband of his shorts, and then lower still to dip below the band and trace light lines meant to serve as promises.

He pushes me against the railing, hips blocking me in as he deepens the kiss. I lose myself in this, in him and how my body is floating and burning and aching all at once. I tug his shirt up; his lips leave mine long enough for the t-shirt to whisper off. And then they’re on my neck and my head falls back, and I can’t help wonder if those stars above could be from him.

My hand trails down to cup him; I love that he’s already hard, that I affect him just as strongly as he does me. Matching moans come from both of us as I squeeze gently but firmly and he nips my neck.

I build us an invisible screen out here on the patio, one that allows us to see out but no one to see in. And then I make us a lovely, wide couch.

My hands wander across his bare chest; even now, even after all these years, he takes my breath away. I push against his golden skin, push him away from the railing, toward the couch. His mouth is on mine once more, and my thoughts scatter so freely in these winds that we lose our way for several long, hot minutes. But eventually, I get him right where I want him.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, and goose bumps rise and fall all over my arms on this sultry night. But I shake my head, wagging a finger at him. Soon, but not quite yet.

An amused eyebrow rises as he leans back on the soft cushions, propped up on his arms.

A half smile curves my lips; I snap my fingers and a small table appears next to the couch. I snap them again and a stereo comes to rest on the wicker. Yet another snap has music drifting and mingling in the breezes around us.

And then I return the favor and take his breath away when I slowly tug my shirt over my head. I toss it to the side, swaying to the beat playing. One by one, I strip off my clothes in front of him until nothing is left. I take my time, reveling in how my body moves to the music and how glazed his eyes become with each new part of my body revealed.

I slowly, deliberately make my way to the couch, straddling him as I bend down to capture his mouth with mine. If I thought he was hard before, it’s nothing compared to now—the cotton of his shorts straining tightly against my bare flesh. As soon as his hands reach up to wrap around me, I lean back and wag my finger again, pushing him back with my other hand. “Uh-uh. Just relax.”

I want to laugh at the look he gives me, like relaxing is the very last thing in all the worlds he want to do right now. It’s okay. I’ll have him relaxed right when I need him to. “No touching. Not until I tell you it’s okay.”

I swear, wildfire rages through my veins at the look he gives me then. Because this look? It’s all about possibilities I can’t wait to cash in.

I bend down and lick a line from the base of his neck up to just below his ear. He groans softly, his head falling back against the couch cushion. I lower myself gently until I get another groan. My kisses, feather light, tease until he’s trembling beneath me.

“Chloe, please,” he whispers against my mouth.

He’s been such a good boy, keeping his hands where I’ve told him. But I’m not quite ready to give him exactly what he wants. I take my sweet time exploring his body with my mouth and hands, reveling in how hard and fast his heart beats beneath my touch and how heavy his breaths become. When I fear I might combust, I slowly, slowly unzip his shorts and fold the sides back.

Well now. How fortuitous. He’s gone commando today.

I take him in my hands; he gasps. I love this sound of his. I love knowing that he makes it because of me. I challenge myself then—no giving in until I get a good, solid three of these delicious gasps.

I let go momentarily so I can sink down against him. I get a gorgeous moan, but it’s not the same. So I kiss him, hard and deep, leaning up slightly so I can run my nails down his length. Bingo.

He whispers my name again; I cut him off by reclaiming his mouth with mine just long enough for his eyes to drift close. I want him to see the stars he always brings to me. So, I trail kisses down his neck, to his collarbone, my hands spreading out across his chest.

Suddenly, we’re flipped, with me on my back and him over me. I yank his head down to me and there are no more games, no more teasing. My tongue strokes his and we are going for the gold in kissing. His shorts come off and then he’s right where I need him, moving inside of me. Hip to hip, thrust to thrust, our bodies dancing in perfect harmony to the music filling the air around us. Gods, I love this man.

We explode together, right on cue. Even though we didn’t merge, my mind splinters into a thousand, happy shards of bliss.

I’m panting hard, searching for my breath, when Jonah says in wonder, “I can feel you.”

I laugh tiredly. Contentedly. “I can feel you, too.” He’s still in me, as a matter of fact.

He gently cups my face, brushing his lips against me. “No. I can
feel
you.” A hand comes to lazily trace my breast before resting over my heart. “Your emotions, love. Right after you came.”

It’s my turn to gasp. “Yeah?”

His head ducks briefly to brush a kiss across a nipple. And then, there’s the dimple, making me want to swoon all over again. “Yeah.”

Thank the gods. I jump into his head; he enters mine. Long minutes later, we explode again, this time so strongly I’m nothing more than a quivering puddle of ecstasy afterward. Sweaty and tired, I tangle my body in his so we can drift off to sleep together.

My happiness knows no end.