7. John
7
JOHN
After breakfast, I get in my car to drive toward the mountains. I don’t know whether to thank Grandpa Malone or curse him for being the catalyst for bringing my ex back to town.
I’m a hypocrite, though, because I razzed Jack for not wanting a long-distance relationship with Aaron, knowing full well mine with Micah didn’t last. But ours revolved around different circumstances. Leading up to the legal separation, we mutually agreed to take a break in our relationship so there was no pressure. But maybe that was a mistake because all it did was fuel our estrangement. It became too painful, the longing for him too much, to hear about his prospects in LA, so a breakup was likely inevitable.
As I exit the car, I spot Rosie outside, surrounded by boxes and garbage bags. “Hey there, Rosie, how’s it going?”
I’ve met her in town a couple of times, but we mostly spoke on the phone when I called to inquire about Mr. Malone’s health. Whenever I offered to stop by or drop something off, he refused. Maybe it was for selfish reasons on my part. It was a link to Micah I couldn’t seem to part with.
She wipes her brow after tossing what looks like broken pens from the box into a bag. “He’s collected a lot of clutter over the years, but it wasn’t really my place to tell him how to live.”
“He probably wouldn’t have listened anyway,” I reply, and we share a smile. “I’m sorry for your loss. No doubt you’ve gotten to know him well over the past few years.”
She nods. “I admit I’ll miss the old grouch.”
I offer a sad smile. “What will you do now?”
“I have another family lined up for an interview.” She doesn’t seem pleased about the prospect. “For now, I’m going to help Micah. It’s what Mr. Malone would’ve wanted me to do.”
I walk inside to see Micah holding a broom while staring at an urn on the mantel, completely lost in thought.
“Hey, you okay?”
My question startles him. “What are you doing here?”
“I figured you could use an extra set of hands.”
“Are you sure?” he deadpans. “Maybe it’s not such a good idea.”
“What? To be around each other after we’ve been friends since childhood?” I tease.
“I mean, you are my husband.” The way he says it, in that sexy, smirky tone, nearly knocks me on my ass.
Our eyes connect and hold until he clears his throat. “Well, thanks. I can certainly use the help.”
I motion toward the fireplace. “Is that him?”
“Yeah, just picked up the ashes. I was remembering the first time I came to this town. How different it felt, how angry I was.”
“God, yeah. But you still made my breath catch the moment I saw you.” He was all fire and heat, his eyes molten lava, drawing me in.
Micah stifles a groan. “You were the only bright spot during that time.”
My heart thumps. “Glad to hear I helped make your childhood better.”
His eyes soften. “You made everything better.”
My stomach sours. “Obviously not everything?—”
Micah steps forward with a troubled expression. “J, don’t. You know I…”
“Let’s not go there, yeah?” I give him a pointed look that stops him in his tracks. “Looks like we got our work cut out for us around here.”
“Understatement.” He forks his fingers through his hair. “Let’s get to it, then.”
We work all morning, sifting through shelves and drawers. His grandfather’s collection includes bent postcards, yellowing notepads, hats, used books, and fishing apparatus, all crammed into any available space. We stand side by side at the dining table, either pitching junk or filling empty boxes with anything that might be usable for donation.
I hold up a brightly colored lure that resembles a small fish with a poofy tail. “Have you been lately?”
“Fishing?” He shakes his head. “He left me his boat.”
“He still owns it?” It seems like forever since he worked on the docks.
He nods. “According to Rosie, he wants his ashes spread on the water.”
“It is still in decent shape?”
“It better be. No way I’m fixing up his house and boat.”
I laugh, but I also can’t help thinking that Old Man Malone put one over on him even after death.
Micah pitches a handful of broken trinkets that maybe Grandpa Malone told himself he’d fix one day. Everyone seems to have a junk drawer in their house, but this is on a different scale. “So, how’s the fam? Is Cain still surfing?”
I nod. “He gave us a good scare last summer when his surfboard washed ashore and we all went searching for him.”
He pauses with a damaged light socket in his hand. “Holy shit, that had to be scary.”
“It was, and June… Fuck, I hated that haunted look in her eyes.”
“Probably felt way too familiar.” He frowns. “So what happened?”
“He had wiped out and washed up farther down the beach than he’d anticipated. He was weak and a little beat up but perfectly fine.”
“Thank God,” he says, lobbing a few packets of screws into the box. “June still working at the diner?”
Bobbing my head in affirmation, I say, “She enjoys it there. Between that and helping Aunt Dina at Honeycomb, she keeps herself busy.”
“It’s like I never left,” he teases.
“In some cases, sure. But plenty has also changed.”
“Well, not everything…” He throws me a flirty look. “You’re still hot as hell.”
I groan. “God, Micah, don’t do that.”
“What? I’m only stating a fact.”
“Okay, fine. Here’s another: you’re still the best fuck I’ve ever had.”
“Yeah, same,” he says, and I love seeing the flush across his cheeks. “Hey, no one ever said there can’t be husbands with bennies.”
I laugh because it’s not like we haven’t taken advantage of that very thing, but it’s been years. I sober when his attention strays to the urn again, and I have to remind myself he lost a family member, and that’s why he’s in town.
“By the way, what were you going to ask me yesterday at the bar?”
He averts his eyes. “I…I dunno.”
I step closer. “Yeah, you do. Try me.”
“It wouldn’t be fair of me to ask you?—”
“When my parents died, you showed up here and knew what I needed. Maybe you need the same?”
When our eyes meet, I see desperation and sadness in his, so instead of second-guessing myself, I wrap my arms around him and pull him into a tight embrace. This is Micah, the love of my life, and no matter how much time passes, I’ll never not feel this way about him.
Micah sags against me with his nose at my throat while I kiss the top of his head and take in his scent. Coconut lime, like he just walked off the beach instead of using a scented body wash.
“Fuck, I missed you,” he says, and it makes me shiver.
“Apparently not enough,” I tease.
“You know that’s not true.”
“Yeah, I know.” Besides, what’s my excuse? I’ve considered showing up in LA to be with him countless times. “If only we were able to be in the same town.”
He draws back. “I…think about it—relentlessly sometimes. Just packing it all up.”
“Does that mean you’re still sure of me?”
He blinks a couple of times. “Fuck, I almost forgot about my letter.”
“Still have it.” I sigh. “But that was a long time ago.”
“It’s still true. To this day, you’re the only one I’m sure of. My love for you hasn’t weakened, J.”
I pull him back into my arms because maybe I need the comfort too.
“I tell myself that if you hadn’t pushed me to leave, I would be miserable never knowing what Hollywood’s like.”
That was the exact reason I did it. “And? Any conclusions?”
“That it’s not as easy or glamorous as you think when you’re younger.” He pulls back to look at me. “You also have to get used to doing other things while waiting for your big break.”
“Like working as a server?”
“Uh-huh. It’s a different lifestyle out there. Crowded, busy, noisy.”
I shudder for effect, and he cracks a smile.
And then he sobers as we stare at each other, our bodies close, our lips only a breath away. “J, I know I shouldn’t, but…”
“I want it too.”
Our lips meet in a tender brush, like a quiet hello. There you are. The missing piece of me. It’s like coming home. We kiss softly, tenderly holding each other for several long minutes before I pull away and get my bearings. I could easily stay like that all day and night.
It takes everything in me to make my lips utter the words, “I should get going.”
Micah’s expression is forlorn. “Thanks for the help.”
He swipes at his eyes, and I can’t tell if it’s because of us or the grief over losing his grandfather. Either way, it makes my throat clog with emotion.
“No problem. Let me know what else I can do.”
“Got any experience getting a fishing boat up and running?” he lobs at me, and I laugh as I head out the door.