13. Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Thirteen
Luna
Prolonging the inevitable is a bit of a personality trait for me.
I hold off on doing the hard thing for as long as humanly possible.
It doesn’t make much sense that I’m still that way, but I am.
Countless times I’ve gone and done the thing, gotten it over with, taken that great big breath of relief, only to forget how freeing it is and put off the next unenjoyable task once again.
While I fidget with my phone, putting off the call I know I need to make, I stare out the cottage window.
It’s raining now, which is a solid reason not to ask Rafe to come back over and talk through this with me.
Who would want to get soaked walking between the cottages with the promise of a difficult discussion when you reach your destination?
No one, but that’s not the point. The conversation needs to be had, but where do we begin?
I close my eyes and groan. Instead of calling Rafe, I call the little instigator that got this whole thing started.
Mav answers with his usual cheerful voice, though I can’t be sure I didn’t wake him. I don’t even know what time it is in North Carolina right now; I only know I need to talk this out with someone.
“Should I guess by the fact that you are calling me that something went horribly wrong?” Mav asks instead of hello.
“I made him mad, then hurt his feelings,” I admit. “I said something about his work being important to teens and guys living in their parents’ basement and—”
“Holy smokes, woman. Even I’m offended by that. Rafe works so hard, and he doesn’t want to make video games and silly apps his whole life, you know. Actually, the game he’s designing now is an amazing educational app for kids with dyslexia.”
Yikes. It seems like I’m on a roll, angering the Thomas clan, but it wasn’t intentional.
“I know that, Mav.” My tone softens significantly.
“I suddenly felt like that woman all over again. The one that was ignored and put aside for months while he worked on one app, let alone multiple apps, and I lashed out. Of course, I don’t believe what I said.
Lots of people play video games and use apps.
I get it. I feel absolutely stinking, pathetically awful. Help me fix it, please?”
Mav sighs then goes quiet for a moment. “Luna, is there any chance you can just let it go?”
“What do you mean? I’m not sure he’s going to let that go.”
“No, not him. He has a right to be annoyed with you right now. I mean you. You let it go. Move on from the notion that he put the app before you and try to look at it a different way?”
“How so?” I’m open to the possibility, but I need perspective. Facts. Solid evidence. My heart wants to go all in again, but my stupid brain clearly is not getting the message.
“He did things for you, for your future, and maybe he hyper-fixated on that app because, in his mind, it’s what he needed to do in order to provide a future for you both.”
“I get where you’re going, but I still needed my boyfriend to acknowledge my existence. No one can be ignored like that for so long, Mav.”
“Hey, look, I get it. I’ve lived with the guy my whole life, and getting his attention when he’s down the coding rabbit hole is almost impossible, but it isn’t because he doesn’t love you.
Can you honestly say that when you did have his attention, he was ever distracted?
Didn’t he put his whole focus on you alone? ”
Is it true? I look back over the years, all the times I dragged Rafe away from his computer, and realize that yes, it is.
The problem wasn’t maintaining his attention, it was getting it in the first place.
Surely, there is some way to work through this with him; let Rafe know that I need him and find a balance that works for us.
“You can’t expect Rafe to be the only one making concessions, Luna,” Mav whispers, almost as if he’s afraid he’s saying the wrong thing.
He’s not, though, and that realization hits me a lot harder than I want to admit.
There are things I might have to compromise on if I want this to work, so the real question is, how far am I willing to go?
Can we meet in the middle, or can I be satisfied with the ebb and flow of a relationship like we had before?
I can’t answer that, not yet.
“I know. For nineteen, you’re pretty smart, by the way,” I tease, trying to ease the stress all this thinking has dumped on my brain.
“I’m sure there’s a compliment in there somewhere,” he jokes. “Listen, I don’t know how you ended up in that disagreement, but now is the time to settle it. Don’t wait. Hang up with me and call him. Work through it with him. You’ll never solve these issues talking to me.”
“It’s raining and getting dark out now. I don’t know if he’ll want to come back up to my cottage.” There I go again, putting off the task.
“That’s the most pathetic excuse I’ve ever heard. I said call him. You don’t need good weather to place a call.” Busted. Darn Thomas.
“Okay, okay, I’ll call him.”
“Good, do that. I gotta get back to work, okay?”
“All right. Be safe, littlest Thomas.” After a few pleasantries, I hang up and stare at my phone.
I should follow his advice and call Rafe, but the sudden urge to just go to him takes me.
Yes, it’s raining. Yes, it’s dark. It’s cold.
I’ll be a wet ice pop when I get there, but at least it will get his attention.
He can ignore a call, but he can’t ignore a soaking wet woman on his front porch.
I mean, I guess he can, but I sure hope he won’t.
Dropping my phone on the table, I grab my coat and slip it on.
Maybe if I run, I won’t get too wet and can dry off by the fire.
That could even be romantic if I play it right.
I yank the door open and make a run for it, slamming it behind me.
I make it two steps across the porch and bounce off of a man.
He huffs but manages to stay upright and keep me standing with him.
“That stings,” Rafe mumbles, and I realize I’ve also poked him in the eye…somehow.
He holds his hand over his eye and takes a step back, which is one step too far.
He misses the stair and slips on the wet porch before flailing his arms in a useless attempt to keep himself standing.
I grab for him and manage to get ahold of his coat, but his backward momentum and my small stature do not make a good pair, so I go with him, increasing his speed until he flops into the mud at the bottom of the stairs.
The air is crushed out of his lungs when I land on top of him with a yelp. And just because, or maybe for fun, the rain picks up and we’re sloshing around in a mud pit trying to stand.
“Wait. Hold on,” Rafe says. I freeze and he grasps my arms and rolls me off of him to the side. He doesn’t let go. Instead he pulls me upright with him and steadies himself against the bottom stair with one foot. He lifts me from the mud and plops me firmly on the top step.
“Are you okay?” I ask and work to wipe the rain from his face. It’s useless. The more I wipe, the harder it rains.
“I’m fine. Are you okay?”
“Yeah. All good. I was coming to your cottage and ran out the door and…Well, you know the rest.”
His lips pull into an almost smirky, cocky grin. “You were coming to mine?” And then the grin disappears. “Wait, was it to yell at me?”
I shake my head and settle my hands on his shoulders, eye level with him. “No, not to yell. I was coming to apologize for what I said and talk it out with you. We should go inside.” I point up at the clouds as if he can’t tell it’s practically drowning us.
He peers around me and bites his lip. I know that look.
Oh boy, do I know it. He’s going to make a move right here in the pouring rain like some kind of Hollywood actor…
but no thanks. I’m not looking to get sick or drown kissing in the rain.
Still, the idea of kissing our troubles away isn’t such a bad one, so I have to figure out a compromise and fast. Before he has a chance to go in for the kill, I grab his hand and drag him inside.
He’s all legs tripping over himself up the stairs and over the threshold, but once he’s inside, I let him go for it.
I spin around and let him wrap me in his arms, warm despite his soaking-wet jacket.
Rafe lifts me onto the kitchenette counter so I’m at eye level again, hesitates long enough to make sure I’m okay with this, and goes in for the kiss.
His lips are cold but tender, telling me he’s just as sorry for the spat as I am.
There’s nothing frenzied in this kiss, but everything soft and sweet and patient.
It’s years of knowing just how to kiss me, just how to hold me, and all the right ways to soothe my emotions into a state of calm like no one else can.
Rafe sighs and pulls away. With a gentle hand, he brushes all the wet hair from my face. “I’m sorry I left. I thought it was the right thing to do so we wouldn’t fight, then I got down there, and I’ve been miserable ever since. Couldn’t stand it anymore, so I ran up here.”
I lower my gaze to his chest, but he forces me to look up at him. He clasps my face between his hands and kisses my nose. “Don’t look away from me. Talk to me.”
I pull him closer and settle my head on his chest. “No, you were right to give us space. What I said was unnecessarily cruel and untrue. Your work is important to you, just like mine.”
“Why did you say it?” His voice is a rumble against my cheek.
“Because I had a momentary setback. All I could think about was how much I felt ignored when you were working on one project, and how much more would it be with multiple things happening?”
“Why didn’t you just tell me that?”
I heave a sigh. “Because that would have been the big girl way of handling a problem, and I was a doofus.”
Rafe chuckles. “Fair enough. I’ve been there, done that.” He leans down and kisses the top of my head. “Are we good now? Should we talk it out a little more?”
“Probably, but I want to snuggle with you. Can we do the therapy-style talking more tomorrow when we’re not tired and soaked?”
“Sure thing, baby girl.” Rafe helps me down from the counter and urges me to change before I get sick.
He’s not as wet as anticipated once he takes off his jacket, so he goes to sit in front of the fire while I change into my sweats.
Now that I’m comfy and cozy, we can snuggle up on the sofa and talk or read… just exist.
When I emerge from the bedroom, he’s already sprawled on a blanket on the floor, propped against the sofa, reading one of the books I brought with me. I snatch one from the pile and sit beside him. Rafe opens his arms and I snuggle down for an evening of reading and existing in one another’s orbit.
Two glorious hours wrapped in his arms pass before I yawn.
“Ah, and there’s my cue,” he whispers. He leans in and kisses my temple. “You should get some sleep so we can have fun tomorrow.”
“Mmm, I hate it, but you’re probably right.
” Shifting, I slide away from him so he can rise.
I remember our promise of sharing things, a promise I broke earlier tonight.
“I love spending this time with you, wrapped in your arms like we used to do. I hate that we argued, but I’m happy you came back. What about you?”
He huffs a laugh and rolls his head to look down at me. “There was nothing about the last two hours I didn’t like.” With reluctance, he stretches and stands. “Night, Pom Poms.”
I swat him again for using the nickname I pretend not to like. “Night, Rafe.”
I watch him leave and head down the darkened lane to his cottage and promise myself that I will do better tomorrow.
I’ll do the thing I’ve wanted him to do for so long—talk.
Be honest. Say the thing that is bothering me.
Because he’s worth it, our relationship is worth it.
Above everything else, our future is worth it.