Dancing with Time

You look so dumb. Tryin' to apologize

Dedicated to SnehaDaria

"Earthquakes just happen. Tornadoes just happen. Your tongue does not just happen to fall into some other girl's mouth!" — Gemma Holiday

Three sunrises bled into one another since Kayden whisked Juliet away on their sibling bonding trip. Each morning, she'd awaken to find the flimsy fortress of pillows she'd meticulously constructed between them scattered like fallen snow across the hardwood floor. In their place, a warm arm snaked around her waist, strong and possessive. Like a toasty whisper of cinnamon, Keith's breath teased her neck, starkly contrasting to the cool morning air. Logic screamed at her to abandon the nightly charade, but a stubborn streak, a shared thread in their tapestry, kept them locked in a silent tug-of-war.

Each sunrise brought a pair of lingering kisses – one soft and sweet upon waking, the other burrning with passion when Keith returned home from work. With each kiss, Juliet is reminded of his words on the beach, "You would be greeted by a kiss every morning and every night. Regardless of the world, you would be my center, my compass."

Their evenings fell into a predictable rhythm. Keith, a silhouette bathed in the soft glow of his laptop, brow furrowed in concentration. Juliet, a restless butterfly flitting between channels on the television, a dull ache blooming in her chest with each idle click. The air hung heavy with the familiar musk of his cologne, the low hum of the TV a lullaby, and the distant thrum of the city a constant heartbeat. By 10 pm, an unspoken truce settled between them, a retreat to the bedroom filled with unspoken questions.

Wednesday crackled with nervous energy. Juliet, hunched over her laptop, meticulously crafted the final touches on her resume, a beacon of hope in the stormy sea of her emotions. Job hunting had unearthed a promising opportunity. Now, armed with her meticulously crafted resume, all that was left was Keith's keen eye. A businessman by trade, his insights could be the missing puzzle piece.

Maria's bustling form filled the kitchen, the rhythmic clatter of pots and pans a comforting counterpoint to the storm brewing inside Juliet. For the past forty-eight hours, she'd studiously avoided Keith, her mind a tangled mess of confusion. The memory of their second date, the soft caress of the ocean breeze, and Keith's heartfelt confession, a desperate plea that echoed in her mind, "Give me a chance... give us a chance, please, Juliet."

Keith's actions, a confusing paradox of possessiveness and tenderness, sent her into a tailspin. One part of her craved escape, a frantic scramble to outrun the possibility of another heartbreak. The other, a traitorous whisper, urged her to explore this uncharted territory, a hesitant waltz with unfamiliar emotions.

Juliet wasn't oblivious to the tension that hung in the air, thick and heavy like fog before sunrise. She could practically feel Keith's frustration simmering beneath his uncharacteristic silence, starkly contrasting his usual barrage of questions. Yet, fragile but persistent sliver of hope snaked through her. Tonight, she decided, they would talk. They had to.

The golden light of 5 pm spilled through the kitchen window, casting long shadows as Juliet entered. Besides the soft hum of the refrigerator, the only sound was the gentle melody drifting from her iPod. With practiced ease, she began setting the table, the clink of china a comforting rhythm against the music. Two plates, pristine white, gleamed under the warm light. Beside them, two crystal wine glasses sparkled like captured raindrops. Reaching into the cool embrace of the fridge, she retrieved a bottle of Chateau Petrus, its deep red label like a promise of luxury. A pitcher of lemonade, vibrant yellow against the clear glass, completed the tableau. As she placed a bowl of creamy Italian potato salad on the table, a happy shout echoed from the front door, "Love! I'm home!"