such astounding guitar skills. It's unfair to the rest of mankind.
Walking through the front door, Christopher chaperones me into his living room. How it can contain so little, yet appear this muddled is beyond me. Christopher is constantly cleaning after and caring for his mom. There's something very dysfunctional about their relationship that I've yet to understand and figure it's due to her emotional state regarding the impending divorce.
She's been a disaster. One minute she's crying her eyes out and the next she's dolled-up to the nines headed out on the make. It guts Christopher, and he tries to avoid conversation about the whole mess.
Once we're nestled on the sofa, I'm slightly taken aback as he searches into my eyes, as if in silent confession, before kissing me more profoundly than ever before. In the past few weeks he's given me some fantastic kisses, but these are lingering and filled with an ecstasy that makes my head foggy. He fondles my heartstrings, but I'm just not ready to go down this road for reasons I don't want to confess to myself.
Christopher’s never been this forward, and it urges me to resist just enough to come up for air. “Wow. Not that I'm complaining, but I thought you said you wanted to talk?”
“I'm sorry. I do want to talk to you. I also wouldn’t be brassed if we didn’t say a word and kept going like this.” His next kiss steals my breath both in rapture and apprehension. As I gasp at the fervor, he shies away. “I'm sorry. I’m a tad nervous.”
A tad is not an accurate description. He looks downright afflicted. The Christopher I've come to know and love is usually very happy and comfortable, albeit a little daft.
Wait. The Christopher I've come to know and love ?
The notion gets brushed aside in lieu of the issue at hand. “Hey, are you okay? You know that you can talk to me about anything, right?” The genuineness of my words surprises me as suddenly I see how much he's come to mean to me. Am I all right with this?
“Can I? Can I really? Because that is kind of what I want to talk about. I feel like a clot with no idea where to start.”
“Whatever it is, just say it.”
He catches a little air before knocking me on the floor with his confession. “Lilyanna, I’m starting to develop some pretty strong feelings for you, but I’m rather confused. Most of the time it seems you feel the same, yet others you're so distant it’s as if you're pushing me away. I just—Lilyanna, I really think I've fallen in love with you, and I need to know how you feel, if you even know.”
Oh, dear God! My eyes must be like saucers. Inwardly I'm cringing at the familiarity of his words. He sounds like me with Donovan. But he's actually vocalizing his feelings. Why did I never lay the cards on the table with Donovan? Words are a mighty instrument. Is this why Donovan muted me? Why if I tried to talk to him rationally he'd flip in the other direction?
“Lilyanna? Are you all right?”
My head snaps back into the beckoning moment. “Did you just say you love me?”
“I think I do. I’m not sure. Well, I know I love you. But I’m trying to figure out if I'm in love with you. I’ve never been in love before. I feel us moving closer, and I just want to stop for a second and figure out what we're really feeling before we go down a path we may not be ready for.”
As I absorb Christopher's words, the truth becomes apparent. Somewhere down the line we became inseparable. We don't just go out on dates and make out; we actually spend quality time together—a lot of it. We cling to each other and longingly stare into each other’s eyes. We've shared how we feel about pretty much everything but each other. We've been kissing more and more passionately, yet he's barely attempted second base. But just because we haven't gotten very physical doesn't mean we haven't become emotionally attached. Would he even understand the second base analogy? They don't have baseball in England. They
Walking through the front door, Christopher chaperones me into his living room. How it can contain so little, yet appear this muddled is beyond me. Christopher is constantly cleaning after and caring for his mom. There's something very dysfunctional about their relationship that I've yet to understand and figure it's due to her emotional state regarding the impending divorce.
She's been a disaster. One minute she's crying her eyes out and the next she's dolled-up to the nines headed out on the make. It guts Christopher, and he tries to avoid conversation about the whole mess.
Once we're nestled on the sofa, I'm slightly taken aback as he searches into my eyes, as if in silent confession, before kissing me more profoundly than ever before. In the past few weeks he's given me some fantastic kisses, but these are lingering and filled with an ecstasy that makes my head foggy. He fondles my heartstrings, but I'm just not ready to go down this road for reasons I don't want to confess to myself.
Christopher’s never been this forward, and it urges me to resist just enough to come up for air. “Wow. Not that I'm complaining, but I thought you said you wanted to talk?”
“I'm sorry. I do want to talk to you. I also wouldn’t be brassed if we didn’t say a word and kept going like this.” His next kiss steals my breath both in rapture and apprehension. As I gasp at the fervor, he shies away. “I'm sorry. I’m a tad nervous.”
A tad is not an accurate description. He looks downright afflicted. The Christopher I've come to know and love is usually very happy and comfortable, albeit a little daft.
Wait. The Christopher I've come to know and love ?
The notion gets brushed aside in lieu of the issue at hand. “Hey, are you okay? You know that you can talk to me about anything, right?” The genuineness of my words surprises me as suddenly I see how much he's come to mean to me. Am I all right with this?
“Can I? Can I really? Because that is kind of what I want to talk about. I feel like a clot with no idea where to start.”
“Whatever it is, just say it.”
He catches a little air before knocking me on the floor with his confession. “Lilyanna, I’m starting to develop some pretty strong feelings for you, but I’m rather confused. Most of the time it seems you feel the same, yet others you're so distant it’s as if you're pushing me away. I just—Lilyanna, I really think I've fallen in love with you, and I need to know how you feel, if you even know.”
Oh, dear God! My eyes must be like saucers. Inwardly I'm cringing at the familiarity of his words. He sounds like me with Donovan. But he's actually vocalizing his feelings. Why did I never lay the cards on the table with Donovan? Words are a mighty instrument. Is this why Donovan muted me? Why if I tried to talk to him rationally he'd flip in the other direction?
“Lilyanna? Are you all right?”
My head snaps back into the beckoning moment. “Did you just say you love me?”
“I think I do. I’m not sure. Well, I know I love you. But I’m trying to figure out if I'm in love with you. I’ve never been in love before. I feel us moving closer, and I just want to stop for a second and figure out what we're really feeling before we go down a path we may not be ready for.”
As I absorb Christopher's words, the truth becomes apparent. Somewhere down the line we became inseparable. We don't just go out on dates and make out; we actually spend quality time together—a lot of it. We cling to each other and longingly stare into each other’s eyes. We've shared how we feel about pretty much everything but each other. We've been kissing more and more passionately, yet he's barely attempted second base. But just because we haven't gotten very physical doesn't mean we haven't become emotionally attached. Would he even understand the second base analogy? They don't have baseball in England. They
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