After the words (too soon, too fast, just horrible timing) somersault off of his tongue and into the space between them, her eyes go wide, green and shining. She’s surprised, but then she’s laughing with what can only be relief. She reaches out from the driver’s seat for his hands (and he isn’t sure why she’s always driving when they’re together, but sometimes he thinks of it as a sort of twisted metaphor for their relationship). His fingers push through hers, small and thin and olive skinned. When their palms press together, he feels something warm spread through him and he lets out a strangled laugh because he’s only felt that, this with- She kisses him and for a second he honestly can’t think of the name he was going to put there, that would complete that thought. (Pam. Pam, Pam, Pam.)
Ryan Adams is playing on the car stereo and when she pulls back and looks at him, it’s: in the field where my plane went down. So he kisses her again so that next time it’s: when you’re lonely, she makes you feel nice.
They’re in the parking lot of the church still, the only car left. It’s just them, the stars, the cold winter air seeping through the windows and the residual feelings of a day devoted to love filling in all their empty spaces. She kisses him again and again and he brings his hands to either side of her face, holding her there and pressing his mouth firmly against hers, blacking out silky dresses and casual flirting and soft curls and her hand clasped with his.
“I love you, too,” she finally says when she manages to pull away from him. She bites her bottom lip, smiles up through her eyelashes. He thinks about her on that stage earlier when he’d felt this same feeling that he’s experiencing now swell inside of him, something like pride and adoration and thankfulness.
She exhales, “God, Jim. I was so-” And she looks over at him, her hand reaching out to run along his jaw. She just smiles again, leans her head back against the headrest with her hand resting on his shoulder, moving to his neck where the curled ends of his hair loop around her index finger.
He nods, “I’m sorry,” and looks down at his lap.
“It’s okay now,” she says as her hand runs down his arm and settles on his wrist and he believes her even though he’s pretty sure that this moment right now is supposed to feel like a beginning.
Author's Chapter Notes:
Title taken from Aging in Rhythm by Slowreader, "My brain makes castles from sand/I just do all I can." The Ryan Adams song quoted is Sweet Lil Gal which happened to be playing as I started writing this and seemed somewhat appropriate so.
PS: I promise Jim/Pam fluff in the way of the second part of Like the Light House no later than Monday.
Also: I own nothing.
unfold is the author of 102 other stories.
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