Sunshine Kisses

‘Not like that, you pervy shit.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I’m writing a romance novel. It started as a stress release exercise. I’ve always loved the idea of writing, and I wanted to create one thing that wouldn’t be graded. Something that was for me.’

It wasn’t the full story, but there was truth to it. Writing a romance novel had been a dream since she was fifteen and borrowing her first steamy stepbacks from the library. But until her breakup with Sam—until she had once again confronted her feelings for Erik—she hadn’t been able to find her inspiration.

‘And I know it’s silly and frivolous and—’

‘It’s not,’ Erik said, so firmly that Abby looked up at him. His eyes were stormy again, so fierce and determined that it knocked the breath out of her. ‘Don’t shit on the stuff that makes you happy. With anyone, but especially not with me. Ever. Are we clear on that, Sunshine?’

She nodded slowly, awestruck by his intensity.

Erik’s face softened slightly before he went on. ‘If you love it, it’s not silly. And I’ve read everything you’ve ever written. Everything else, I guess. You’re so smart, Abby. Smart and funny and sensitive even when you were writing a boring, pointless school essay. You can’t do frivolous. I bet it’s amazing.’

Her lips quirked up. It felt good to have someone believe in her. It felt good to have him believe in her.

‘Tell me about it?’ His voice was achingly tender.

She squirmed as she thought about the last scene she’d worked on. After Erik had left her room the night before, she’d considered writing a productive way to burn through the excess of feeling within her. She had opened the document to find herself in the midst of a passionate confession, with the hero trying desperately to convince his female counterpart of his feelings.

Time had escaped her as she had written, weaving metaphors and flowery imagery to wear down her slightly prickly heroine until even she couldn’t deny that his feelings were bold, immense, and—crucially—matched her own. The feelings she had never dreamed would be reciprocated. Emotional revelations taken care of, her own mood had sent them towards the bed. She’d been delaying writing or even planning the inevitable sex scene, sure it would be an uncomfortable confrontation of her own intimacy issues, but it had flowed easily, the love and passion between her main characters segueing easily into an explosive tryst.

She’d left them in their post-coital bliss, content with their story arc for now. Abby had sent the couple through the emotional ringer, and seeing them get their happy ending filled her with satisfaction. It was a short draft—nowhere close to a full novel—but it had solid bones, and the story could enjoy room to breathe before she returned to it.

Erik’s fingers trailing over her neck brought her back to the present and she slowly started unravelling her narrative. In many ways, it was a coming of age story: a young heroine figuring out who she was and learning to accept herself in a world that threatened to keep her caged. A girl who refused to walk the path her parents had chosen for her, leaving them behind as she followed her dreams and fought for what she believed in. But most of all, it was a love story. The tapestry she wove began with childhood friends. Pure white threads of innocence and first love became grey and confusing. Messy patches woven in the deep green of jealousy were slashed through with the red of heartbreak. And in the end, the colours twisted together to form a thick, golden string conveying a love borne from the deep, comfortable foundation of friendship.

Abby had avoided his face while she spoke, and finally looked up sheepishly when she finished her speech. She’d never pretended, even to herself, that it was subtle.

Erik caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger, holding her firmly in place to keep their eyes locked. His voice was slightly choked as he said, ‘And these characters, they’re just entirely made up, obviously. Not at all based on anyone you might know.’

Warmth crept up her cheeks. It seemed enough of an admission for him as Erik stroked the blush absently, her favourite little smile making an appearance below his beautiful eyes, filled with tender emotion.

‘I want to read it.’

‘It’s not finished. It’s barely a story, nevermind a book.’ And I’ve already basically admitted it’s about how much I love you, but there’s no way I’ll be able to deny it once you’ve read it.

‘Whatever you have. Please?’

And…Abby had never been able to say no to that voice. A minute and a few taps on her phone later, and her messy first draft was speeding into Erik’s inbox.

Despite their closeness, despite the fact that he knew her inside and out, it felt more vulnerable sharing that one little document than it had when he’d seen her half naked that morning. No one had read it. Only her former therapist even knew it existed.

Erik smiled when his phone buzzed, promising to start reading it later as he pulled her onto his lap and brought his face close to hers.

‘What happened to dinner?’ Her voice, barely a whisper, still felt too loud in the stillness of the car.

‘I couldn’t wait,’ Erik said, closing the gap between them.

It could have been ten seconds or several hours later when a clap of thunder startled them apart. Abby found herself straddling Erik and saying a silent, thankful prayer to the people who had made old cards so spacious.

They stared at each other for a single, wonder-filled moment before Abby burst into peals of giggles. Erik chuckled in response, rubbing his face in a way she was becoming increasingly addicted to.

‘Look at me,’ he moaned. ‘Making out with my girl in my dad’s car like a horny teenager.’

It took every ounce of restraint she possessed to let a small smile be Abby’s only response to his words. The idea of being his was almost too good to bear.

‘Shit. I mean— Not my—’

Abby pushed a finger gently to his lips, stopping his panicked rambling. ‘Your girl wasn’t complaining,’ she whispered, leaning down to kiss him again.

Erik crushed her torso to his and rolled his hips up, moaning into her mouth when they connected. She gasped at the feel of him, the thin mesh of her underwear offering no protection between them. She wondered if he could feel how wet she was through his clothes. The way he whimpered her name made her think he could.