Neanderthal Seeks Human(130)

He shook his head, “No. That’s not acceptable.”

“Quinn-”

“That would be bad for my company.”

“But at least-”

“What are you so afraid of?”

“I’m afraid that if you get to know me you’ll think I’m weird.” The words, words I didn’t even know I was going to say, blurted forth like a disobedient hiccup.

His gaze refocused, met mine directly, “I do know you and, you’re right, you are weird.”

“I’m afraid you’re laughing at me instead of with me.”

He shrugged, “There is nothing I can do about that. You’re funny.”

“I’m afraid that your money, and my lack of money, will come between us.”

He placed his hands on his hips, “It won’t. I won’t let it.”

“I’m afraid that I feel more for you then you feel for me.”

He shook his head slowly, “That’s not possible.”

“I’m afraid that we’re moving too fast and that this is just infatuation.”

“I don’t know what this is.” He breathed in as though he were going to continue but then paused.

Quinn studied me, held my gaze, his eyes moving between mine. He seemed to be considering his next words carefully.

I knew what I wanted him to say; I wanted him to tell me that this wasn’t infatuation, that he was certain we were meant to be together into eternity, that I looked pretty in this dress and ask me if I did something different with my hair, that I was the most beautiful woman in the world to him. It was what I wanted to hear because I was falling in love with him

…was in love with him.

Finally- his words deliberate, cautiously crafted- Quinn said, “I think about you all the time.” His gaze narrowed, his jaw ticked as though the confession cost him, “And I can’t guarantee that this isn’t infatuation because sometimes I think it has to be. But-” his gaze moved upward then to the left and over my shoulder, “- I don’t think of you as perfect.”

I frowned at him.

I don’t think of you as perfect.

“Oh… ok.” My eyelashes blinked in rapid succession and my brain started compiling the list of all my imperfections, “It’s because of my height? My seepage of trivial facts? My granny panties-”

“No- listen-” his attention swiftly moved back to me, “that’s not-” he shook his head and swallowed, “If this were infatuation- or just infatuation- then I would, we would become disillusioned at some point, yes?”

I nodded, I was sure unconvincingly.

He continued, “I don’t have misconceptions about you- that you’re flawless. And you don’t have any illusions about me. You’re too practical and- if you did- you wouldn’t have reminded me on Wednesday that I need to be a good guy.”

I nodded again, this time more convincingly albeit more wearily.

“I don’t think this,” he motioned between us, “I don’t think this is infatuation.” He shifted closer and I thought he was going to touch me but, instead, he crossed his arms and his voice became softer, gentler, “I know that life, in general, terrifies you; I know that you are frequently oblivious to the obvious; and I know you are completely irrational at times-”

I opened my mouth automatically because my brain was telling me to object but, surprisingly, I didn’t actually feel any outrage at being called terrified, oblivious, and irrational. His assessment was, more or less, on target. The fact that he knew these things about me, seemed to accept them, made me feel better and worse.

“- and it drives me crazy. You drive me crazy.” His voice deepened and he leveled me with a narrowed glare as he continued, “But, in spite of how totally nuts you are, I wouldn’t change anything about you.”

I pressed my lips together and started biting the inside of my cheek; I bravely met his pointed stare. “You think I’m totally nuts?”

He nodded and sighed, “Yes. And I-” his eyes moved over my forehead, eyebrows, nose, cheeks, lips, chin, “I still can’t stop thinking about you.”

I inhaled deeply, trying to breathe him in, trying to understand this desire to take him within myself and carry him with me always. He lowered just his head and my eyes began to drift shut.

“Janie…”

I sighed, “Yes?”

“What are you thinking?” his voice was a whisper.

I licked my lips, wanting his mouth on mine, driven to mad honesty, “I love you.”

I sensed rather than saw his self-satisfied smile, “Good.”

He softly brushed his lips against mine. My immediate confession-panic dissolved by the warmth of his closeness, his nearness blanketing me in a frightening sanctuary I never knew I wanted but now recognized was necessary to my continued existence.