Coda Books 04 - Strawberries for Dessert (MM)

his other hand between us, soft on my own as I finished stroking. When it was over, I put my arms around him, and for some indefinable length of time—maybe only a second or maybe a year—we just lay there on the floor together, shaking.
    I kept my face in his silky hair and kissed the side of his head.
    “See?” I whispered. “Was that so bad?” He laughed out loud, and it seemed like the most beautiful sound in the world.
    “To think I spent all that time scouring the market in Paris for your present.”
    “You’ll know better next time.”
    Once we were both breathing normally again, I sat up. I found my shirt on the floor next to us and used it to wipe myself off, and then him. He watched me silently as I did it. I stood up and held my hand down to help him up off of the floor. He didn’t look at me as he found his pants and shirt and put them back on. He was so quiet, I started to worry that I had somehow offended him, but when he was dressed again, he stepped up close to me and looked up into my eyes. His lips were still red and swollen, and I couldn’t take my eyes off of them.
    “I’ve never really liked being kissed before,” he said quietly. “But nobody’s ever done it the way you do.”
    “I’m glad you’re changing your mind,” I said as I brushed my thumb over his mouth, “because you have the most beautiful lips I’ve ever seen. I think I’m falling in love with them.” He closed his eyes, and he smiled. A blush was creeping up his cheeks, but for once he didn’t try to hide it from me. “Do you want me to take you out for dinner?” I asked.
    He opened his eyes again and nodded. “Yes,” he said. “I’ll cook tomorrow.”
    “Okay.”
    “But first.” He stood on his toes and wrapped his arms around my neck. “Kiss me just one more time.”
    I was happy to oblige.

    WE HAD dinner at an Italian restaurant not far from his house. It was good, but his cooking was better. I told him that every time, and he always laughed. But I wasn’t lying. We never argued about the check anymore. He always let me pay. I knew he didn’t understand and found it vaguely amusing that it mattered to me at all. But he always bought the food when he cooked, and paying for our meals the few times we ate out was the least I could do.
    That night we went to bed like always, with him on one side and me on the other. The room was dark. He was nothing more than a shadow on the other side of a bed that seemed impossibly big. I resisted the urge to try to touch him, but I listened to his breathing. I could tell he was still awake. I was just starting to drift off when he said suddenly, “I keep thinking about college.”
    It was a strange statement, and I wished that there was enough light in the room that I could see his face. I waited for him to go on, but he didn’t until I asked, “What about it?”
    “Do you realize we were there at the same time, right down the road from each other? You and Zach at CU. Jared and I at CSU.” He stopped for a moment, and I wasn’t sure what to say. It wasn’t something I had ever really thought about before. “Tell me about Zach.”
    “What about him?”
    “What was he like?”
    “He was funny without really meaning to be. Easygoing. He never took anything seriously. He liked to cook, like you. He wasn’t nearly as good at it.” That wasn’t just flattery. It was the truth. “But he enjoyed it the way you do.”
    “What happened?”
    I had to think about it for a bit—about exactly how to explain what had gone wrong. For years after the split, I kept a rosy picture of our time together in my mind. I let myself believe that we really had been great together, and that our break-up had been the result of a tragic misunderstanding. Since running into him in Vegas, though, I had started to be a little more honest with myself about it.
    “I always felt like Zach only needed a push, you know? Like he was drifting along with his eyes closed, and if I could just get him on the right track, he would be perfect.” Of course I could see now how wrong that was—to love him, and yet expect him to be something other than what he was. “I pushed and pushed for him to do more with his life. I thought I was helping. All I was really doing was pushing him away.” This was met with only silence, and I asked, “What about you?”
    “What about me?”
    “You told me your life isn’t conducive to committed relationships.”
    “I’m pleased to hear that you