Twenty-Eight
Mia
I ’ m shivering and cold, inside and out, and it’s probably even worse for Gavin, standing in waist-deep river water.
He hasn’t met my eyes since he called me out, in front of my sister and brother-in-law, of all people. This is the opposite
of how I wanted things to go. I thought this would be the perfect time for a grand gesture. Confess my feelings for Gavin
in front of a crowd to show him I’ve let go of my reservations and I’m not afraid of letting the whole world—in this case,
a medium-sized group of strangers—know how I feel about him.
Except the moment I saw Ted, I remembered that in real life, declarations of love don’t always go as planned. If I confess
my feelings, Gavin might tell me he doesn’t feel the same. Seeing Ted reminded me of that nauseating feeling of rejection.
The kind of rejection that would feel infinitely worse from someone I actually love.
Ted’s on a tube next to me, and all I can think about is how much simpler things would’ve been if we’d never dated.
No awkwardness wedged between me and Kim in those early days of their relationship.
But I didn’t ever love him, and there’s no comparison of how I felt when he broke up with me to the feelings surging in my chest at watching things go awry with Gavin.
Though I tried to hold back, I know in my bones I’ve already passed the point of no return with him.
“Last question,” Chip says. He’s gotten on my nerves since we arrived. Too cheerful. Too blasé about his lack of qualifications.
“Either teammate may respond, and once you do so, those standing in the water may join their partner on the tube.”
If it weren’t for my competitive streak, I would’ve already jumped off the raft and sloshed my way over to shore. But there’s
still time to be brave. I write love declarations for a living, after all, and I’m damn good at my job.
Chip checks the set of cards in his hand. “Where do you see yourselves, in relation to one another, one year from now?”
You’ve got to be kidding me. It feels like he’s singling us out after my answer earlier. My answer should be: Together. Whether I believe it will come true or not is irrelevant; what matters is that I want to be with Gavin.
But before I can respond, he locks eyes with me and says, “Who knows? I don’t have a crystal ball handy.”
My heart plummets. He’s my teammate, my friend, the man I’m falling in love with, and he’s throwing my insecurities back in
my face?
Not looking at me, he splashes toward my raft and hops up next to me with a casual show of athleticism to complete the challenge,
but I can’t fake my way through these emotions any longer. I slide off the tube into the river, sinking into silty mud up
to my ankles.
It’s humiliating to run away, but tears are already blurring my vision, and I need to get out of here. I move as quickly through
the water as possible, which is pretty much sloth pace with the mud tugging at my feet and the current pulling me sideways.
I make it to shore and speed up, hurrying toward the parking lot and privacy.
Chip calls out, “Wait, the life vest.” I whirl around and he shrugs. “It’s company property.”
Teeth gritted, I grind the words out. “I’m not stealing the vest, Chip.” I walk around the embankment to the mesh bag that
stowed the life jackets. With trembling fingers, I unbuckle the top strap.
The sound of sandy gravel crunching lets me know I’ve been followed. Gavin jogs around the corner, slowing when he catches
sight of me. Seaweed clings to his wet shins, his swim trunks bunched and dripping. His hair is windblown, cheeks reddened
from the sun. He’s a mess. A gorgeous, wonderful, frustrating mess.
“I told you this was a bad idea,” he says.
“Maybe this—” I gesture between us “—was the bad idea.” It doesn’t feel that way, not really. But I’m still reeling from him
calling out my insecurities in front of everyone.
He shakes his head. “The problem is you’ve been doing this halfway. Not being real in front of the people closest to us in
case it doesn’t work out. Keeping our relationship a secret gave you a reason to hold back.”
All I was doing was trying to protect my heart. “Maybe the timing isn’t right,” I say, unwilling to admit he’s right. “I’m
working on what could be the biggest book of my career, and you might be moving—”
“All of which we can get through together, like we always have.”
“As friends.”
“But isn’t this better?” He steps closer. “There’s nothing holding us back now.” His words knock against my greatest fear,
like a wrecking ball to dominoes. Nothing held back. All my defenses gone. My heart could get broken, and he wouldn’t be there
to pick up the pieces.
“This isn’t the way friends get a happy ending.”
Eyes wide, Gavin runs his hands through his hair, scattering droplets. “That’s why you’ve been blocked, isn’t it? Not because you don’t see chemistry between Sydney and Victor. But because you don’t believe they can have a happy-ever-after.”
“They’re not us. You know that. My characters are never real people.”
“But they’re friends. And that’s the problem.”
I have no choice but to nod. “Yeah. But it’s a ‘me problem,’ not an ‘us problem.’”
“Except we’re an us now, Mia. We’re not just friends, and if you truly don’t believe we have a future—”
“This is ridiculous. I’m not having this fight with you.”
“Then tell me you believe in us.”
“There’s no one I trust more in this world, Gavin. You know that. But love is different. It’s out of our control.”
“Actually, I disagree,” he says. “I think it’s a choice.” He’s so close I can see his eyelashes are clumped, dark with water.
The crystalline droplets on his forehead and cheeks. The anguish and yearning in his deep blue eyes. “But it’s a choice that
two people have to make together.”
I want to choose him, but I’m scared. There are too many unknowns. Fingers trembling, I yank at the straps of the life jacket.
“Waste of time,” I mutter in frustration.
“Considering you tipped us at least three times last time we went canoeing at the cabin, I’d say it’s a good precaution.”
His teasing pulls me out of my head, lightens the moment in the way only he can. He undoes the buckles, each click another
piece of my armor breaking down. What will happen when there’s nothing left? I’m afraid love like this will tear us apart.
“What if we don’t work out?” I ask quietly, eyes on his hands working the snaps loose.
“What if we do?”
For a moment, I imagine it, the image deliriously sweet. Gavin and I bumping hips in the kitchen as we fight for who gets the first cup of coffee. Gavin next to me while I’m writing on the couch. Gavin, mine.
The tug on my heart nearly yanks the breath from my lungs. The last buckle falls away, and I lift my eyes to find him staring
back with intensity that’s oxygen to my soul. I pull in a lungful of longing, but then another vision of the future clouds
out my hope. What if we go for it and wind up pushing each other away? What if I never get to be this close to him again?
What if he’s never mine again, not even a little?
“I need you too much to take the risk.”
“And what about me?” His gaze never leaves my face. “What if I want more, and can’t settle for less?”
“Don’t say that.” Tears are stinging, threatening to flow. “We’ve had that, you can.”
“I can’t, sweetheart.” The endearment feels like too much. Too soon. Too late. “Not anymore.”
“But...” Feeling strangled, I yank off the wretched life vest. “You promised.” There was never any going back. I knew that,
and yet I let myself believe. “This isn’t us. We’re losing each other.”
“Only because you’re too scared to grab ahold of more.” He takes my hands. “I’m right here, asking you to give us a chance.
Telling you I want you. But I’m done pretending, and right now, that’s all our friendship would be.”
“You’ll change your mind,” I say, gripping his hands tight. “You’ll see friendship is better. Safer.”
“I don’t want safe. I want you.”
“I want you, too, but not like this. Not tangled up with risk and ruin.”
“Ruin? We’re building something, Mia. Not tearing it down. Tell me you don’t feel the same.” He bends, pressing his forehead
to mine.
Dropping his hands, I grip his shoulders, rising to kiss him. The warmth of his mouth against my chilled lips consumes my senses. I could get lost in his strength, his steadiness. The way his breaths turn shaky, like his walls are crumbling, too, and he’s letting them fall. Letting me in.
He knows exactly what I need in this moment, but what about tomorrow? Life is a long series of changes, but he’s been there
all along, every moment, steadfast in the role of friend. I’m not ready to lose that version of us.
I pull away, hand to my lips, holding in the sensation even as my heart closes the door. “It’s not too late,” I say, begging
him to agree. “We can go back to before.”
“Maybe you can.” He shakes his head, water droplets falling from his honey-brown hair. “But not me.”
“You’ll change your mind.”
“This isn’t my mind talking.” Frustration is in the firm set of his mouth. “For all your stacks of books on love, I don’t
think you’ve ever once followed your heart.”
He turns his back on me and walks toward the river, taking a piece of me with him. Proving all this kind of love is good for
is tearing people apart.