Part 1
In her room, Anne stuck her phone on the charger and grabbed the clean clothes from her suitcase. Stripping down again and waiting for the water to heat, she stood in front of the mirror looking at her body in a post-Damien morning. She touched each bruise he had left on her, speckling her body like a star map of his lust and adoration. She looked deeper, trying to avoid shying away from her own gaze, trying to see the body he had worshiped like he had until the mirror fogged over. She tried to see what he saw, gently pinching pieces on her calves, thighs, stomach, arms, and breasts—palpating every place his lips and hands had explored.
Under the water, she suddenly burst into tears, sobbing into her hands. Her tears mixed with the water, swirling down the drain as she allowed herself to unload and feel the major shift that had just happened between the two of them. She needed this moment alone to process her own actions, before she could even consider processing what had happened with him, with him. She let herself cry and feel every complicated weight until her shoulders had turned bright red and her fingers had gone wrinkled and pruney. Drying off and dabbing concealer on the visible mouth-sized bruises along her neck, she was grateful she could blame her red eyes on a long, hot shower.
Damien walked out of his room, rolling bag in tow, and turned to face Anne. Unbuttoned two buttons deep, his shirt was cream colored, patterned with multi-colored macaws and palm trees.
“Damien,” Anne said with a melodramatic sigh, unsuccessfully fighting an authentic smile, “I thought we agreed no palm tree jump scares.”
“I would never have agreed to such a thing,” Damien countered, giving a dramatic spin. He stepped over to her and put his finger under her chin, lifting it so she was looking up at him, his thumb on her bottom lip. “Besides, I bought it just for you.”
He grinned, wide enough for the subtle dimples to make a cameo.
“Like I said, I'm at my sexiest when I channel Jimmy Buffett.” His voice was only a notch above a whisper, but the growl in the back of his throat might as well have been a foghorn.
Anne inhaled as she felt a flutter in her chest, between her legs, indulging in his freshly-showered scent—the way he made her mouth water.
He winked, and her stomach plummeted. He removed his hand, checking his watch. “I think we’re good on time to catch the flight—even have time to grab a coffee and a pain-au-chocolat from a coffee shop. What do you say?”
Stepping out of the hotel, the air outside hit them with a warm, sticky embrace that immediately drew a comment from Anne. Their bags growled as they rolled over the baking asphalt.
“It’s so hot outside. I don’t understand how people live here.”
Damien chuckled, sacrificing himself to the car-turned-oven so as to give the AC a head start. He rolled the window down, ducking down to look at her through it, even as he let the canvas top unfold itself into the rear compartment. “They won’t for much longer. The state will be underwater in no time,” he quipped, his tone light but the underlying message stark.
Anne shook her head, a smile tugging at her lips despite the grim humor. “Always the optimist,” she teased.
“No, that’s realism. My optimism lies in knowing it’ll be prime real estate for off-shore wind farms.”
“Are you… still allowed to build those?”
Damien’s nose scrunched. “My optimism lies in hoping if I lobby and vote hard enough, then I’ll be allowed to again. Now get in, I hear an Americano calling my name.”
The coffee shop greeted the two of them with a blast of cool air conditioning that felt like a soothing balm. The scent of freshly-ground coffee beans and baked goods filled the little cafe, and it was packed with late morning brunch-goers. Damien led the way to the counter, his movements familiar yet somehow more significant in Anne’s eyes today. She observed him as he ordered, noticing the assured tilt of his head and the way his eyes briefly met hers before he spoke.
“I’ll take a chocolate croissant, and a medium Americano with two cream and a pinch of salt,” he said smoothly to the barista before gesturing to Anne as he was unfolding bills from his wallet. “And whatever toothache concoction this lovely lady will have. Medium iced coffee with five sugar, five cream okay?”
Anne hesitated a split second as her turn came, a new weight pressing softly against her decision. “Actually, I’ll have something a bit lighter today,” she began, her voice calm but carrying a new layer of intimacy. “Two of each, and could you add a little salt to mine too? Just a pinch. Oh, and a bagel with cream cheese.”
Damien’s glance at her was quick, but it was loaded with a mix of surprise and quiet acknowledgement. His smile was subtle, a private joke shared between them over something as simple as a pinch of salt.
As if by a miracle, a small table opened up by the window, the light filtering through and casting patterns on the table. Each took a seat, their knees almost touching. Damien’s presence felt closer than ever, his every movement finely tuned to the space between them.
With their coffees before them, Anne took a careful sip, considering the new saltiness to find that Damien had been right. It was less bitter, even with less cream and sugar.
“Adapting to new tastes?” Damien’s voice was soft, almost reflective.
“It would seem so,” Anne replied, meeting his gaze over her cup. Her response was quiet but deliberate, the moment sitting between them.
He watched her, his eyes dark and thoughtful. The way she brought the cup to her lips, the slight furrow of her brow as she tasted the newfound salt in each sip, the gentle clearing of her throat—it all drew him in deeper. While it had always sort of been so, the mundane act of coffee was now an even broader study of her nuances, each little detail magnifying under his attentive gaze.
With nothing but crumbs left on their plates, the two stood to leave, the proximity in the cramped space sent a current of anticipation through them both. As Damien stepped aside to let Anne pass and out into the muggy air, his hand brushed against her back—a touch that lingered a little too long to be casual. It was a touch that sent sweet butterflies through both his and her stomachs. On the way to the airport and all the way home, they carried with them not only to-go cups of coffee, but a silent acknowledgement of their new intimacy. The world around them buzzed on, oblivious to the tectonic shift that had occurred in the long moments between an elevator ride and the cozy corner of a Miami coffee shop.