His lips moved against hers, and the zings brightened into stars. His lips parted, inviting her into his warmth. She tasted the tang of Queen Esther, and a deeper taste, sweet and wild that she couldn’t name, except that it was innately, essentially Joey and she wanted more of it.
Their tongues touched, and the stars burned into suns.
And then—just as she wondered where to go next, if she was doing it wrong—he kissed her back. It was his turn to taste, and to take his time exploring, with such tenderness that every heartbeat was distinct, alive, and heat sheeted through her, obliterating her mind.
Her knees began to buckle, and she pulled away.
He let her free instantly. “Doris?”
“I—I—I better go,” she said. “I’m freezing—and there’s breakfast to think about . . .”
She heard herself babbling and shut her jaw so hard her teeth clicked together.
“Thank you for a wonderful evening,” he said simply. Easily. As if kissing him was the most natural thing in the world. “I’ll accompany you inside.” His voice was slightly husky, as if he, too felt that passion.
What if he didn’t feel it the same way?
She just didn’t know! The heat gave way to worry, but his calm attitude, his sunny smile restored her balance fast. She took a breath, and realized the world had not ended.
People kissed.
She’d kissed. And nobody knew.
There would be no drama about it.
She babbled more, nervously, to cut off any questions. “We decided to turn the den over to you four. You notice there are only the three couches, but we have a sleeping—that is, maybe one of the teens can use it. The carpet on the floor is ugly, but it’s clean, and has padding beneath. It should be soft enough, especially for young bones.”
When she paused for breath, he said, “That will be perfect. Thank you.”
And then they were among the others as everyone yawned and said it was time to call it a night. She brought the sleeping bags, an armload of sheets, extra blankets, and pillows, said goodnight, and shut the kitchen door.
One minute later she was upstairs, closing the door to her room.
She was safe—not from him, but from herself.
When she woke up, her mind zoomed right back to that kiss. A brief roil of anxiety churned her stomach. It was easy to picture Joey lying on the couch in the den, thinking about her. Maybe comparing her to his many past girlfriends, because someone like him had to have had a string of relationships. Of course he’d wonder what had gotten into him—besides a gallon of Queen Esther’s best.
Don’t borrow trouble, she told herself. Her head throbbed faintly, aftermath of her own drinking, though she’d downed a full glass of water before going to bed. The headache might even be due to the prospect of another day of drama over Brad.
Time to face whatever traps and pitfalls lay ahead.
She threw on her robe, grabbed fresh undies, a sturdy sweatshirt and her gardening jeans, and left her room. Nicola’s door was shut tight. Doris hoped Brad was in there. The door to her parents’ room was shut too. Doris was vastly relieved. The fewer people she had to deal with, the better.
Doris remembered overhearing Marrit call her Doris the Doormat two or three years ago. Marrit was fifteen at the time, a tough age. But it had hurt. And that feeling had come back unexpectedly at Bird’s house, when Godiva was putting together her new mystery opening.
If I am a doormat, she thought, who made me into one?
Me, that’s who, she thought as she glared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. She looked back at herself, Spinster Doris . . . except her lips were pink. They looked like they’d been kissed. And they still tingled. When she remembered the feeling of Joey’s lips on hers, that ball of fire below pulsed again.
She turned the shower on full blast and got in. As the water pounded her, removing all the evidence of the previous day, she reflected that water didn’t wash away memory. Did she regret that kiss? No. Really no, though she knew a lot of her reaction would depend on Joey this morning. If he looked at her in indifference or disgust . . .
STOP borrowing trouble, she scolded herself. But she hated this uncertainty. It felt like . . . like a sunburn on her soul. Tender. It was all so very new.
She slipped silently down the stairs, and when she reached the door to the kitchen, her thoughts flew to the door at the other end, behind which Joey Hu was . . . still sleeping? She stopped when she saw Sylvia leaning against the sink. She was swallowing aspirin, followed by coffee.
“That’s hard on the stomach,” Doris said.
“What I’m feeling is harder on my head,” Sylvia shot back, running her fingers through her glorious hair and massaging her temples. “The water in the pot should still be hot.”