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“Why do I have to go?” Abby whines, resting her chin on her hands. Her backpack sits at her feet as well as a sleeping bag and pillow. Mike had been surprised they even owned one, considering he rarely approved sleepovers at other people’s houses.
“It’s just for tonight, Abs,” he explains, eyeing the oven timer.
Thirty minutes on the lasagna, which gives me enough time to-
His sister giggles, covering her mouth. “Is-is it because Vanessa’s coming over?”
Despite being an adult and his sister’s guardian, he finds his face growing hot. “No,” he lies but quickly corrects himself, “yes. We’re having dinner together.”
Abby smiles down at her clasped hands.
“What?” He asks, dreading whatever question or thought might be running through his sister’s head.
Another giggle slips past her lips. “Mike and Vanessa sittin’ in a tree-”
He makes a beeline for the kitchen. Surely, watching the time tick down is a much better use of his time than being teased with elementary school taunts by his much younger sister.
-x-x-x-
By the time his sister is picked up for her sleepover, the oven is at ten minutes. He takes the time to clean the table of Abby’s art supplies, past due bills, and the pile of fake credit cards his sister likes to play pretend with.
He digs the nice linen from the laundry basket. The one he had to dig through boxes upon boxes to find, and then clean by hand and air dry. He places it over the dingy, second-hand dining room table. It whooshes over the surface, sliding perfectly into place.
The top of the table is decorated with a vase full of flowers - orchids and marigolds (Vanessa’s favorite) and roses - along with two candles, left unlit for the time being. He sets two places across from one another.
Mike hurries into the kitchen and looks at the time.
Four minutes. There isn’t a lot of time left.
Mike fidgets with the collar of his dress shirt. This is the nicest shirt he owns. Every other one has a stain or a hole or some other noticeable imperfection, and he wants everything to be perfect.
The doorbell rings. The sound reverberates around the house. Mike jolts, almost dropping the lasagna on the floor. He carefully sets it down on the stove and practically skips to the door. He does one last once over in the mirror as he passes it.
He breathes in deeply.
I can do this.
Mike opens the door. “Vanessa,” he says, words falling awkwardly from his mouth, “hi. Come in.”
Vanessa has her hair down, and while he’s seen her wear it that way before, it seems different. Mike finds himself wondering if her hair’s always been naturally curly, or if she spent hours in front of the mirror, scrutinizing her appearance - just like he had.
The black cocktail dress she wears hugs her body in all the right places, and Mike has to consciously tell himself not to stare. He refuses to violate her like that, especially after all she’s been through.
She’s beautiful , he thinks to himself, taking her coat.
“It smells delicious,” she says, slipping off her shoes at the front entryway. “When you said you were going to cook for me, I thought you were going to get take out.”
Mike leads her to the dining room and pulls her seat out. Her hair brushes his shoulder as she sits down, and he catches a whiff of her vanilla and jasmine perfume. It’s a nice smell, all things considered, and one he finds himself leaning in to smell more strongly.
“Mike?” She asks, concerned in a way that Mike’s only ever experienced from her. His face heats up, and he realizes he’s leaned further into her space without meaning to.
“Sorry.” He clears his throat. “Excuse me, I’ll go…I’m going to go get the food now.” He trips over his words, finding that they awkwardly sit in his throat. It’s like they’re stuck with super glue, but he manages to make it to the kitchen and back again, while holding two china plates full of lasagna, without stumbling, tripping, or otherwise falling.
Vanessa takes the first bite, and he waits nervously on the other side of the table. He used his mom’s old recipe - written down in sloppy cursive on an old yellowed notecard - and he isn’t sure he proportioned everything right. Mixed with being distracted with getting Abby packed, comforted, and fed before her sleepover, Mike worries he might’ve not been attentive enough.
“This is….” he fidgets with his fork, not daring to take a bite until he gets Vanessa’s review. “The best thing I’ve ever tasted in my entire life.” She smiles brightly, taking another bite.
He sighs in relief, taking a bite of his own.
“You seem tense,” Vanessa observes. Her empty plate sits off to the side, as does his own. The candle drips with wax, sliding down and landing on the sides of the holder. Mike watches more wax drip down, his eyes following the trajectory.
He manages a smile. “Have you known me to be anything else?”
She reaches across the table. Her hands brush his own. It’s warm and he finds her fingertips are soft but firm, rubbing the back of his hand. “You said Abby’s at a sleepover?” Her question is a murmur but he understands each word perfectly well.
His body is hot, and if not for the fact it’s late-September, he might’ve mistaken the weather outside for the way his inside’s burn. His chest tingles and the feeling spreads outwards, until his whole body feels tingly and warm and unbearably hot.
“Yes. Until tomorrow.” His voice is strained. He lays his other hand on top of hers. He notices a small white scar just below her pointer finger. It’s really only noticeable if you stop and stare, but Mike can’t help tracing a gentle finger over it. He knows better than to ask, especially given her childhood and, really, entire life up until William’s death. But he’s drawn to the little line.
Vanessa watches him through half-lidded eyes.
Mike pulls his hand away first. “Movie?” He asks, trying once again to avoid staring at Vanessa’s body. At the hug of her dress over her hips and breasts; at the curve of her long neck and dip of her shoulders. His mouth waters in anticipation of something he would never dare ask for.
They settle on the couch. Mike’s old, third-hand TV plays Titanic (the woman at the video store said it was all the rage right now with couples, and Mike having only ever dated two girls - one being for a single date in high school - had to take her word for it). They watch it for a while, but Mike finds his gaze sliding over to Vanessa, watching her reactions. The way her eyes light up when the movie starts (apparently, Titanic is her favorite - who would’ve guessed), and her little shocked gasps.
He tries to keep his focus on the TV, but he finds his hand reaching for hers. His face burns, like he’s a high schooler who’s never held a girl’s hand before. But Vanessa doesn’t seem to mind. She smiles sweetly at him, leaning into his space.
She rests her head on his shoulder. The smell of her perfume is much stronger now, and it makes him feel a bit lightheaded.
“You smell good,” he mumbles before he can stop himself.
If he didn’t know any better, Mike would have said Vanessa’s face turned bright red at that comment. He gently brushes hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear.
“I do?”
“Yeah, like flowers.” Mike breathes in deeply. “Lavender and Vanilla and jasmine….” he trails off, half-drunk on the scent.
Vanessa sits up suddenly, and he worries he might’ve gone too far. Even if it’s the best scent he’s ever smelled or if he wants to smell it everyday for the rest of his life, maybe he should’ve kept it to himself.
But she turns to him, eyes half-lidded once again. “Do you really think that?”
“Yes,” Mike responds earnestly. “Of course I do.”
A small smile plays on her lips, and before he can say anything else, Vanessa leans in, kissing him. His eyes widen as his brain struggles to understand what’s happening. It’s like everything has gone into slow motion.
Her hand slides up his shoulder, and all at once, Mike’s brought back to full awareness. He pulls her closer, wanting, no - needing to feel her body heat.
Her hands smooth over his chest. They break the kiss, gasping and panting for air.
He trails his lips down her neck. He sucks at the skin between her neck and shoulder, lightly nipping at it. The desire in the pit of his stomach grows with every moan from her. It fuels him to continue on.
He feels the way her body shakes in anticipation. She leans even further into his space - if such a thing is possible - until she’s practically sitting on his lap.
Mike finds his hand sliding over her back, searching for the zipper. He pulls it down, and Vanessa allows it to fall away.
“Take this off,” she breathes, tugging on his shirt.
“So demanding,” he teases, but his fingers are instantly at his buttons. He clumsily unbuttons them and slides the shirt off, leaving him in a white undershirt.
Vanessa whines. “ MIke .”
He laughs, but she must not find it funny because she grinds down against him as punishment. His mind goes blank and it takes him a second to fully process anything at all. His hands ball into tight fists and it’s all he can do to squeeze out a mumbled, “sorry.”
She lets up, though from the sounds of her heavy breathing and reddened face, Mike would say he isn’t the only one affected.
She sits up a little, allowing him to pull his undershirt up and over his head. Her eyes slide down his chest, drinking him in. It’s his turn to pull her back in, needing to know what she feels like against him.
Mike brushes her hair from her face, tucking it behind her ears. His hands slide back to her face. He stares at her, adoration in his hazel eyes. “Beautiful,” he breathes, and her face reddens further.
His hands trail down, past her chin and neck and over her shoulders. With expert precision, he finds her bra’s clasp, and he looks to her for permission.
“Go ahead,” she murmurs, kissing him deeply. She even guides his hands in the correct position to unclamp it.
His fingers clumsily undo the clasp. The bra hangs loose. He reaches towards-
He feels his phone buzz in his back pocket. Mike groans. He kisses Vanessa as an apology for the interruption. “I have to see who it is.”
“Abby?”
“Maybe…” He digs into his back pocket. The caller ID is Abby’s babysitter for the night. Instantly, Mike sobers up. “I have to take this.”
Vanessa smiles, nodding her head. “I understand.” She fixes her bra while Mike answers the phone.
“Hello, sorry to bother you, but Abby wants to come home. Is there any way you can come pick her up?”
Mike holds in a sigh. As much as his and Vanessa’s romantic evening is ruined, he would never leave his sister high and dry.
“Yeah,” he says. “I’ll be there in five.”
“Great. I’ll let her know.”
He looks at Vanessa, at her flushed face and heaving chest, and instantly feels bad. Here she is, all dolled up, and he’s gone and ruined it. “Sorry,” he apologizes. “It’s Abby.”
She leans in, kissing his cheek. “Go be a good brother.”
He feels his face heat up, but he recovers quickly. He kisses her in an effort to show her how sorry he truly is.
“Thank you for understanding.” He hurriedly rebuttons his shirt, forgoing the undershirt. It’s not like he’s dressing to impress anyone anyway. Vanessa watches him, amused. “Ah, you can stay…. If you want. I’m sure Abby would be happy to see you.”
Vanessa's smile grows. “We can watch the movie together.”
Mike laughs, halfway out the door. “Maybe this time, we’ll actually finish it.”