CHAPTER FOUR
Liam
A couple of days later, I stopped by the hotel to pick Maggie up from work. I had a lull in the afternoon and I told Adam I had a few errands to run.
I caught her by the reception desk, and she looked surprised to see me. I doubted my plan, unsure why I was putting any effort into this. All I had to do was show up.
The woman at reception eyed me up and down before smiling. I smiled back, politely, but she definitely wasn’t my type. Besides, Maggie.
“Bye, Mags. See you tomorrow,” she called as we turned to leave.
I placed my hand on the small of Maggie’s back, and while I felt her stiffen, she didn’t cringe or shy away. Progress. As we exited onto the sidewalk, I turned to her.
“They call you Mags?” I asked.
“Yeah, it’s my nickname. Why?”
I shook my head.
“Doesn’t suit you. I’ll come up with something better.”
She stopped and stared at me.
“It doesn’t suit me?”
“Nope. Come, let’s go. I don’t have much time.”
I led her across the street, through the town square, and towards a hiking path that cut a flat trail through the forest, leading to the public beach. She kept up my quick pace, but I slowed as we approached the trailhead.
“Let’s talk about your book,” I said.
She blushed and covered her face with both hands. I laughed.
“Do we have to?” she murmured.
“Yes. We need to get comfortable talking to each other, and the novel is neutral territory.”
She dropped her hands and looked at me.
“For you, maybe.”
“Fair enough. But to be honest, I’ve never read a book like that before. I want to talk about it. Like, is this something women are really into? All this romance and shit? I mean, isn’t it enough that a guy is an animal in bed?”
She stared at me dumbly.
“Uh, no.”
“Why not?”
“Because sex isn’t everything. A woman wants to feel loved, appreciated, respected. Besides, you have to get to the sex, don’t you?”
“I know how to get to the sex.”
She sighed and rolled her eyes.
“Haven’t you ever longed for anything more meaningful?”
“Nope.”
I started walking again and after a moment she raced to catch up.
“What is it?” she asked. “I can tell you want to say something else.”
“I do, but I don’t know how to say it without hurting your feelings.”
She snorted.
“I think we’re past that.”
“When you describe the first kiss, well, it’s not great. I could tell you’d never been well-kissed.”
The smile dropped from her face and she studied me. We stopped walking again and faced each other.
“So kiss me,” she said.
“Excuse me?”
“For research, you know. You must be quite good at it. Kiss me and I’ll know how to write about it.”
The request shocked the hell out of me.
“No,” I said.
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t want to. Listen, I told you I’d be affectionate in front of your parents, but that’s it. I’m not some research subject.”
She looked out towards the water. There was one lone fishing boat out, rocking with the waves up against the horizon.
“So describe it to me,” she said softly.
“Describe it to you?” I asked, dubious.
“Yes. Describe the experience of being kissed. Or of kissing someone. What do you consider the perfect kiss?”
I thought about it for a few minutes before answering her.
“Well, kisses fall into different categories. There are urgent kisses, long make-out sessions, fucking panicked kisses… Sometimes they’re a pit stop, sometimes they’re the final destination. But my favourite kind starts out slow, gentle. Waiting to see if you’ll melt against each other before deepening the kiss. And then it kind of picks up. You get into it. You get turned on. The kiss takes on a life of its own.”
I glanced over at her and she looked thoughtful, so I continued.
“I remember when I was a teenager and making out was the bomb. I knew I wasn’t getting any further, so I put everything into those make-out sessions. But then you move on, you get to first base, then second, then third, and by the time you know it, you’re having sex. And you mistakenly believe that each step is better than the last, so you never really go back to just making out. I’d love that, actually—to go back to just making out. Start again.”
I paused for a moment, realizing I’d told her something I’d never even articulated for myself before. I checked for her reaction, but her expression was blank. I cleared my throat, sheepish grin on my face.
“That was good, uh, research. Thanks,” she said.
“No problem,” I said. “Listen. I’ve got to get back to work.”
“Right. Of course.”
She stood up, stumbling over the log. She had this clumsy streak that I found amusing. Almost charming. I waited until she sorted herself out, then stood up, and together we headed back into the woods.