Sealed With a Kiss

Twenty Six Pt. II

Here's another jazz song: That Red Head Gal by the Atlantic Dance Orchestra

XXVI: Bubble

IT'S BEEN A STRANGE FEW DAYS. A permanent goofy grin had been etched on my face since I saw the house, in all it's baby pink glory. This embarrassingly huge grin stayed, because Cole has been...Cole.

We've done the most silly touristy things I could ever think of. We've gone on a steamboat along the Mississippi River, dined in the some of the local spots where I could never have envisioned New York City's favorite playboy billionaire, and explored the streets of the timeless French Quarters.

Sitting beside him in the library, I watch him over the top of my book as he responds to some emails back home. His foot taps along to the beat emanating from the vintage record player, and I can't help to look on at the carefree look in his eyes. I can't help but notice the tension gone from his shoulders, the smirk back on his soft lips, his dirty blond hair in a disarray. He was clothed in khakis and a soft blue button-down. I realized then that the last time I saw him out of a suit was in Napa, when I finally surrendered to him.

I think I like Casual Cole more than Monkeysuit Cole. He looks like himself now, like the silly, wild man I fell for. He's much different from the one I left behind in the city, the one I argue with and kick out of my house on a regular basis.

I was reminded then of when we still weren't together and we were flirty and fun with one another. Now I had him back, but for how long? Until our week here was up and we had to return to reality?

His phone buzzed beside him. Cole glanced at the screen before looking up at me and finding that my eyes were already on him. He shot me an apologetic look and pointed at the phone as an apology.

I signed as I watched him close the door, cutting out the sound of the music. I followed by shutting my book and sitting up.

Where was my common sense? I knew this would happen. I knew it when he fought for my attentions in California, I knew he would hurt me. I knew it when we arrived back and I saw him with Gemma Hamilton. I knew it then and I know it now, yet it took me seeing him with his work to be reminded of what awaits when we return from this fantasy.

We are good when we're away, I see that now. In our own little Cole and Poppy bubble. But that bubble is too fragile, it bursts as soon as we float back into reality.

Getting up, I placed my book back on the shelf and I switched off the 1923 Atlantic Dance Orchestra vinyl. I was met by silence, until Cole opened the door and stepped back inside.

"Choosing a new record?" he asked with a smile.

"No," I said softly. "I thought I'd turn in for the night."

"Oh." Cole said a moment later. "But we haven't even had dinner yet."

"I'm quite tired," I said lamely. He registered my mood and wisely didn't push me.

"Goodnight then." I turned and looked at him with a polite look. He looked torn--almost as if he wanted to say something but couldn't. Cole's icy blues looked confused. He was trying to figure out what he did wrong.

He didn't do anything. He just reminded me that life can't always be French pastries and jazz records. "Night, Poppy."

I nodded and stepped around him to leave but his hand pulled me back. There was so much longing and emotion swimming in his eyes, so much confusion, regret even.

Wordlessly he leaned forward, staring deep into my eyes. I froze when he was but a breath away and pulled back. His lips landed on my cheek, on the corner of my mouth. I tingled everywhere, and I knew if I didn't walk out that door then he and I would end up exploring the coat closet in the foyer.