21 Samantha
21
SAMANTHA
I T’S AMAZING HOW cathartic destroying things can be. The whole family seemed to share my feelings because we took that entire kitchen down to the studs the day we decided on it. I think we had a lot of pent-up frustration to work out.
Then Mom came home two days into the remodel and it was clear that we hadn’t thought this through.
We had nowhere to cook. Everything was takeout. We had to be strategic about meals so Mom didn’t freak out with the change. We decided the best place to set up would be in the yard. We already had a little gazebo out there, but it was filthy and covered in dead bugs and cobwebs, so we had to clean that out, which took half a day. We power washed it and then Dad said we should just paint it while it was prepped, so we did. It needed new furniture so we ran out and got some. When we were done, it was really nice. Like an old, faded painting that had been restored. A bright spot in ruin. Color in a gray world.
It energized us.
The stress and worry and sorrow about Mom needed channeling and this was the thing we were all going to funnel it into. The family team-building activity we didn’t know we needed.
Tristan had called a silent truce, thank God. I think he recognized that if he didn’t become a team player effective immediately the kitchen would end up painted a color he hated. He made storyboards with design ideas. Jeneva began researching new appliances and I was in charge of getting contractor bids.
Then we decided we should probably do the formal dining room too since it was attached to the kitchen and having different colored baseboards didn’t make any sense.
Then it was agreed that the bathroom off the kitchen should also be done since it was already in a construction zone.
For the next two weeks the house was like an ant farm. Everyone running around, tasking, moving things. Workers coming in and out, drills and hammering.
Mom was so medicated she barely blinked.
The project got my mind off her. It got my mind off Xavier too. I was too busy to think about him. Much. Which was why it was such a shock when eight weeks after he’d left, he called.
I was standing in a tile store with Tristan, being told all the backsplashes I liked for the kitchen were hideous, when my phone rang. I stood there, staring at my cell, wondering if he’d butt-dialed me.
“Who is it?” Tristan asked, over a booklet of tile samples looking annoyed at the disruption.
“It’s him .”
I didn’t have to explain who him was in my house.
My brother crossed his arms and nodded at the phone for me to answer it. I swiped the call button.
“Uh, hello?”
“Hi. It’s Xavier.”
I thought I had been getting over him, and then immediately I wasn’t. It was literally that fast. Instantaneously back in the throes of it after three words out of his mouth.
I snuck over to a corner and stood in a shower stall display with blue hexagon tile and really nice grout.
“Hey. What’s up?” I asked, trying to seem nonchalant.
“I’m attending a veterinary conference in Long Beach,” he said. “I was wondering if you wanted to get dinner. As friends,” he added.
“A conference?”
“Yeah, it’s one of the big ones. Important for my continuing education requirement.”
“Huh.” I traced between two tiles with my finger. “Well, when are you here?”
“I’m here now actually.”
I blinked into the soap dish. “ Now? Where?”
“I just checked into the hotel.”
“ The hotel? The gross one?”
“Yes.”
A pause.
“Xavier, that hotel is nowhere near Long Beach. That’s an hour drive each way, easily.”
“I know. It’s just such a good deal. And I’m used to it already.”
I laughed dryly. “The horror house you know…”
Silence.
“Dinner?” he asked again.
I tipped my head back. “Xavier… I don’t think this is a good idea.”
“Why?”
“Because you know why.”
“Are you seeing someone or…”
I shook my head. “No.”
I don’t know why but I sensed relief on the other line.
“It’s just dinner,” he said. “I don’t know anyone here.”
I didn’t answer.
“Come on, Eileen…”
That’s it. He got me. I cracked a smile.
This was a terrible decision. I knew it was. But also, he was here, from two thousand miles away and he was alone, in a city he didn’t know. If I was in a city I didn’t know, I’d want a friend to come hang out with me. How was I going to say no to that?
I let out a breath. “Fine. But this is not a date.”
“Of course not,” he replied.
“I’m serious.”
“I believe you.”
I bit my lip. “What time?” I asked, looking at my watch. It was three.
“Five thirty?”
“Do you know where you want to go?” I asked. “I can find us a restaurant.”
“I’ll find a restaurant,” he said. “And I’ll pick you up. I rented a car.”
“Okay.”
“See you in a few hours,” he said.
“Yeah. See you in a few hours.”
I hung up.
When I turned around, my brother was standing there with his lips pursed. “He’s here for you. I hope you know that.”
I rolled my eyes. “No he’s not. There’s a veterinary thing.”
His face called bullshit.
“He is not here for me.”
His face bullshitted harder.
“Fine,” I said, pulling up Google. “Let’s see.” I searched veterinary conference and found the website immediately. It was a national annual event and a big one.
I’d be kidding myself if I said I wasn’t slightly disappointed.
I turned the screen to him. “See? Conference.”
“He’s lying.”
“He is not lying. Believe me. He hasn’t so much as texted me once since he left, he’s not fake-attending an entire conference in a different state just in the hopes I’ll have dinner with him.”
He looked me up and down. “Fine. But if I’m right you pay for my next tattoo.”
“Ha! No way.”
“Because you know I’m right.”
I pressed my lips into a line. “What do I get if you’re wrong?”
He stood there holding his elbow, deep in dramatic thought. “I’ll clean your little used tissue of a cat’s litter box for a month.”
“Okay, first of all my cat does not look like a used tissue.”
“That cat is barely alive. It would die if it ate a single Flamin’ Hot Cheeto.”
I almost choked on my laugh. I wrestled my face straight.
“You clean it every day,” I said. “And you have to wash it out once a week.”
“Fine.”
“And I’m not paying for some epic, whole leg tattoo thing,” I said. “Nothing bigger than an orange.”
“A grapefruit.”
“Agreed.”
I put my hand out to shake and he looked at it like I was handing him a mouse trap. “I’ll pass. Let’s go.”
I got home and got ready like I was going on the most important date of my life for my Not A Date dinner. I didn’t know why. I shouldn’t care how I look, but I absolutely did.
One meal.
I wasn’t doing anything else with Xavier. No lunch tomorrow, no drinks after the conference, I wasn’t getting roped in.
When he knocked on my door at exactly 5:30 he had flowers and a Porto’s box.
The rope lassoed me.
“Hi…” he said, giving me his warmest, barely there smile.
Good lord , he looked fantastic.
He wore a blue button-down shirt that matched his eyes. Is this how they dressed at those veterinary things? Because wow.
I nodded at the box. “What’s this?”
“I brought you the guava cheese strudels you like.”
I blinked at him. “You stopped at Porto’s because I mentioned guava strudels once?”
“Yes.”
“And you brought me flowers?”
“I did.”
“This is not a date,” I said.
“I am aware.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Then why are you bringing me gifts?”
“I brought pastries to Mike’s place last week. Was that a date?”
I gave him a look.
“Should I call him?” he said. “Break the news to him that we’re going out now? Because of the croissants?”
I crossed my arms. “Stop.”
“I brought flowers to Jesse’s mom on Mother’s Day. Was that a date too?”
“STOP.”
Amusement etched the corner of his mouth.
I rolled my eyes. “Fine. They’re not date pastries or flowers—I just want to be clear.”
He gave me a head tilt of acknowledgment so I took his Not A Romantic Gesture gifts and went to the sink to fill a vase with water.
He walked in behind me.
Pooter came running and scaled him, meowing like he was made out of catnip. He picked her up and scratched under her chin. My kitten immediately started purring. Xavier sat with her on my mattress and smiled at her, talking softly to her in that way that hypnotized memory care patients, animals, and social media managers alike.
I stood there looking at him, momentarily dazed.
The sight of this man on my bed made heat drop to my traitorous core. Like, literally how dare my vagina betray me like this. The audacity.
“How is she doing?” he asked, talking to me but looking at my cat.
I snapped out of it. “Great.”
“You got a mattress,” he said, looking up at me.
“Yes,” I said, setting the flowers on my nightstand.
He peered around and smiled at the lava lamp. Then he saw his hoodie draped on my chair and he paused for a moment looking at it before coming back to me and slipping into one of his contemplative gazes.
I gazed back, looking at his mouth because apparently I really was that obvious.
I loved the way he kissed. I missed it. I wished we’d done more of it back when kissing was a thing we were doing.
As if he knew what I was thinking, he kissed Pooter on the head. I had never been so jealous of a kitten.
Ugh, this was such a bad idea.
I cleared my throat. “Where are we going?” I asked.
“I got us six thirty reservations at Castaway.”
I blinked at him in surprise. “How? They’re always booked up.”
He set Pooter on the bed and stood. “You’ve been there?”
“Yeah, of course.”
He nodded. “I must have gotten lucky. Maybe a party of two canceled?”
“Huh.” I put a thumb over my shoulder. “Well, we should probably go, then.”
I think he wanted to hug me. I could see it in his eyes, like he was weighing whether to lean in. I grabbed my purse and headed for the door before he could hold me in his warm embrace two feet from a very convenient bed. I was strong, but even I had limits.
He jogged ahead of me in the driveway and opened the car door for me.
I was getting in when I heard a tiny tapping. I looked down to see my brother staring at me through the basement window by the washing machine grinning like a gremlin at my Not A Date opening doors for me. I narrowed my eyes and got in.
My cell phone pinged as we backed out into the street.
TRISTAN: I’m making my appointment.
I texted back in all caps. IT’S NOT A DATE.
Xavier glanced at me. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah,” I said, putting my phone away. “Just my brother being annoying.”
“He’s talking to you again?”
“Yeah. I think I liked it better when he wasn’t.”
He smiled.
“So how have you been?” he asked, making a right out of the neighborhood.
I shrugged. “Good. We’re remodeling the house. Murkle’s is coming up with a Dijon so I’ve been busy with that.”
“Really? When does it launch?”
“November.”
“I’ll have to get some,” he said. “I was wondering what to get the guys for Christmas.”
I looked out the window so he wouldn’t see how big this made me smile.
“Dijon actually makes excellent stocking stuffers,” I said. “Did you know that Dijon mustard was created in 1856 by a guy named Jean who lived in Dijon, France? They used to make it with verjuice. I had to google it, it’s the green juice of unripe grapes. Now we use white wine instead. So much better.”
He didn’t reply so I had to look at him. He was grinning.
“What?” I said.
“I’ve just missed hearing about mustard.”
“Ha.”
I tucked my hair behind my ear. “So what have you been up to?” I asked.
“Working. Oh, I had a patient I thought you’d like.” He nodded at his cell on the center console. “Open my phone. My password’s 4028.”
I eyed him. “You’re giving me your password?”
He glanced at me. “Yeah. Why not?”
“What if I Venmo myself five thousand dollars?”
“Do you need five thousand dollars?”
“No, that’s just the transfer limit. I’m making a point.” I picked up his phone. “Women need to start robbing men more. You guys act way too invincible.”
He smiled at the windshield.
I keyed in his password. “Okay. What am I looking at?”
“Go to my photos.”
I clicked on the icon and beamed. There was a really cute, frowny brown dog with a missing ear sitting on an exam table.
“That’s Brad,” he said.
“Brad?” I laughed. “I love dogs with human names.”
“Keep going. There’s a Gary in there too.”
I swiped.
His whole photo album was animals. Guinea pigs, cats, birds, even a snake. Some alone. Most he was holding. There were a few where he was in his white lab coat. Very cute. Another one where he was doing surgery. He had on the full doctor regalia. Mask, gloves, scrub cap, and gown, standing over an intubated dog.
I knew he was a doctor. I knew he did surgeries. Like, in theory I knew. But seeing him actually doing it?
It was that moment in the Keira Knightley version of Pride & Prejudice where she rolls up to Mr. Darcy’s estate and it’s this enormous mansion and she’s like, OH, FOR FUCK’S SAKE .
Seriously, I did not need the reminder of how perfect he was.
He glanced over, looking at me studying the surgery photo. “I was doing a free neuter and spay clinic for the rescue. For fun,” he added.
I sighed. “Of course you were.”
I didn’t care about money or status, that was not what did it for me with men. I liked intelligence and compassion and humanity. All of which Xavier had. In spades.
I couldn’t even look at this. This was going to make me too sad.
I swiped again.
Another of the lab coat pictures. He had a kitten in his pocket. Swiped again.
I recoiled at the next image. “Ewwww, what’s that?”
It was a picture of a yellow lacy thing held up by the end of a pencil.
He looked over. “Oh, that’s someone’s underwear. I pulled it out of a boxer’s stomach.”
I sucked air through my teeth. “Were they embarrassed when they found out what was in there?”
“Uh, no. They were fighting. Because apparently those weren’t the wife’s underwear.”
I gasped. “Nooo…”
“I had to kick them out. They were screaming in the waiting area.”
I laughed. “Is the dog okay?”
“Fine. The wife got him in the divorce.”
I shook my head and went back to scrolling.
He looked so happy in the ones with the animals. I knew how rarely he smiled like this. I liked how unguarded it was. Sort of how he was with me.
“I’m surprised you take so many pictures,” I said. “You don’t seem like a picture kind of guy.”
“I’m not. Tina and Maggie take them. The surgery one was for the rescue’s website. The rest are photos for the pets’ files. These are all new patients.”
“Oh, wow, you’re so busy. Is that usual?”
“I’ve been trying to take on as many as I can.”
I swiped past a picture of him holding two puppies, one in the crook of each arm. Then I swiped to the next and it was a photo of us.
It was so unexpected, it made me suck in air.
I’d gone back in time to our first date. The selfie that night at Mother Putters, right after we’d destroyed his friends at mini golf. Us cheek to cheek looking triumphant, Mike in the background, holding a putter and making a good-natured pouty face.
The only picture of the two of us.
My eyes went soft.
Almost three months ago. And I remembered every second of that day like it was last night.
He would be my boyfriend right now, in a different universe. One where Mom wasn’t sick. In this universe I would have flown to California just for a visit. My mom would know my name. We’d go shopping and eat at restaurants where she’d order her own food and wouldn’t need a bib. We’d sit up talking like we used to and I’d tell her about the cute guy I was dating. I’d show her this picture and we’d giggle and she’d say how she couldn’t wait to meet him. The family jewelry would be in the jewelry box and not lost somewhere, never to be found again. Then I’d fly home to Minnesota and back to Xavier and we’d get to figure this thing out between us. See if it had legs. See if it had years.
But that wasn’t my reality.
I turned his screen off and put his phone back down.
We drove in silence after that. He was busy focusing on the navigation and I was deep in thought. Depressing ones.
I wondered if I’d just gotten lucky that no Tinder notifications had popped up while I was looking at his stuff. No text messages from other women. He had to be dating again, he was like the most eligible bachelor in Minnesota. I mean at least one woman from the yacht who saw him shirtless should have swooped in by now. I know I would have.
I should probably start dating again too.
Two million men in Los Angeles, surely one of them could blot out the memory of Xavier Rush.
Yeah, right.
I scoffed to myself and he looked at me. “What?”
“Nothing. Just thinking about the Dart,” I lied.
“What about it?”
I actually did have a funny Dart story, but we were pulling up to the valet.
Castaway was perched in the hills of Burbank with a gorgeous view of the San Fernando Valley and downtown Los Angeles. It had romantic nooks and firepits and a koi pond. It had been there since 1962. I loved eating there. It was the location of a lot of happy memories for me. Grandma and Grandpa’s fiftieth wedding anniversary, right before he died. Birthdays and Jeneva’s baby shower.
It was weird that Xavier took me here of all places. And fitting too. Because really, if I could, I’d want to go with him to all the places I loved. Try to show him my memories so he could understand them, know what I was talking about when I brought them up, recognize the locations and the people and the things I talked about.
Not that that was going to be much help now.
The hostess seated us inside at a tiny booth against the window. It was perfect. We’d get to see the sun set and the lights of the city twinkle in the distance.
“I hope this is okay,” he said as they poured us water. “We could have sat outside, but I didn’t want you to be cold. I didn’t bring your Barbie towel.”
“Horrible planning on your part,” I said, studying the menu.
He gave his own menu an amused smirk.
A sommelier came by to offer us a wine list. There was a candle on the table and fresh flowers in a tiny vase and all of a sudden I realized how this place looked.
Everyone here was either celebrating something—or on a date.
I set my menu down. I had been so excited about coming here that I didn’t think about how romantic this restaurant was.
Xavier looked up at me and noticed the suspicious glances I was giving the room. “What’s wrong?”
“This isn’t a date,” I said.
“I know…”
“Okay, I just want to be sure that we’re on the same page.”
“It can’t be a date unless both people agree it’s a date. It’s not exactly something that can happen without your consent.”
“Okay… because this place is really nice.”
“Yes.”
“So why did you want to eat here?”
“For the view,” he said.
I studied him warily. “It’s expensive.”
“It’s cheaper than a helicopter.”
I narrowed my eyes. “I’m paying for myself,” I said.
The humor dropped from his expression. “I think I should pay for dinner. I chose the restaurant—”
“Yeah, and you drove and you’re paying for parking. I’ll pay for my food.”
He opened his mouth to protest and I cut him off. “Spare me the story about how you bought Chris dinner at an expensive romantic scenic restaurant and how that wasn’t a date. I’m paying for myself. That is a hard rule for me. If you can’t agree, we go to Carl’s Jr.”
“Can I pay at Carl’s Jr.?”
“No.”
We were having a small silent standoff when the server came to take our order. I asked for a separate check and it ended the discussion.
He looked somewhat defeated. I decided I wasn’t going to read too much into that. He was a gentleman, he’d picked an expensive restaurant, and so to be polite he wanted to pay. This wasn’t a date, it was just manners.
“So,” I said as the server collected our menus, “what seminars are you doing at the conference?”
“You were going to tell me a story about the Dart?” he said, changing the subject.
“Oh yeah! Oh my God, this is so funny. I was on my way to the pharmacy—Mom’s on a new medication. That’s a whole other story I have to tell you. And when I turned right, the horn honked.”
He arched an eyebrow.
“Yeah. It honked every time I turned right for two miles . So embarrassing. It shorted out or something. I had to pull over. I opened the hood and some guy popped up within five seconds and disconnected it for me.”
“So you have no horn,” he deadpanned.
A server delivered my spicy margarita and I shrugged, taking a sip. “I gotta get it fixed.”
He was shaking his head at me. I smiled around my straw.
“I really hate you driving that car,” he said.
“The power steering goes out when you run out of gas. Ask me how I know this.”
He gave me a disapproving look and I grinned at him.
“What happened to the glug glug system?” he asked.
“I had the music blasting.” I took another sip. “Couldn’t hear it.”
He looked unamused.
“The drive shaft fell off in the In-N-Out drive-through.”
He rubbed his forehead. “Stop.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re giving me anxiety.”
I laughed and it made him crack a smile.
Then I cleared my throat. “I like the five-o’clock-shadow thing.”
He put a hand to his chin. “I grow it out in the winter. Shave it in the spring. Your hair looks nice. You changed it.”
I touched the ends self-consciously. “Yeah. I let Tristan layer it. I’d be afraid he was going to cut it all off, but he’s too cocky to do anything badly.”
He chuckled.
Then we slipped into silence. The contemplative gaze was back.
The gaze should be illegal.
I could not imagine the scenario in which he would look at someone like this and have it not be romantic. It was way too intimate. It was like he was looking in my soul—and my soul was not above getting naked and streaking across the quad.
I was saved by the salads arriving.
We spent the next three hours talking. We had dinner and dessert and then we moved outside to sit by a firepit overlooking the city.
I told him about Mom, Tristan’s chorizo punishment, and the remodel. He told me about work, and the trip he and his friends took up north. He said they went up to Mike’s stepdad’s cabin a couple of times a year. He told me about Maggie and Tina, his only two employees, and smiled when he described how they’re always feeding him and how good at their jobs they are. He said they’re the backbone of his business and he didn’t know what he’d do without them.
I was glad he was surrounded by good people. He deserved that.
I wished I got to be one of those people.
It was so hard being here with him. Probably because it was so easy.
I liked the way he was always giving me stuff. The cherry and orange garnish from his mocktail because he knew I liked them. The mushrooms off his steak when I commented on how good they looked, his jacket when it started getting too chilly.
I didn’t want to wear his jacket. It was date type stuff. But I also didn’t want to have to leave because it was too cold to stay. I promised myself this one dinner. Then I would probably never see him again for real. I didn’t want it to end any sooner than it had to.
He didn’t touch me. Not once. But he did look at me.
He always looked at me. He paid attention when I talked and he gazed at me contemplatively when I didn’t. And every single time I looked in his eyes, my stomach did flips. My heart rate increased. The urge to get closer tugged at my bones.
If this was a test to see if we could ever just be friends, I was failing.
I could not be his friend. I was too attracted to him. Too impressed by him. Too enamored with him.
I had this flicker of a vision of me at his wedding to someone else. Like, maybe we did give the friend thing a go and years had passed and he eventually tells me he’s met someone and they get engaged. I debate not going, but then I tell myself that I’m over him and as a friend I should show up. It would be weird if I don’t show up. And then I get there and I break down sobbing when I see them together at the altar and end up back at my hotel room alone, drinking vodka straight from the bottle.
No. Xavier could never be just my friend.
But he couldn’t be my boyfriend either.
We would only have the UFO.
The restaurant was starting to clear out around us. I looked at my watch.
“We should probably go,” I said. “It’s getting late.”
I couldn’t be sure, but I think he looked as disappointed as I felt.
We walked out through the restaurant to the front. He opened the door for me and handed the valet our ticket. Then we went to watch the koi in the pond, looking down on the white-and-orange fish swirling around until our car came. It was weird standing there next to each other, like we had that day on the pier, only without him putting an arm around me.
The ride home was quiet.
When we pulled into the driveway, he parked behind the Dart and walked me up to my door.
This was it. Our last goodbye.
The porch light was on, moths fluttering around the bulb. The air smelled sweet, one of Grandma’s flowers blooming somewhere in the garden.
Xavier stood there with his hands in his pockets. “It was really nice seeing you,” he said.
“Yeah. You too. What time does the conference start tomorrow?”
“I think lectures start at eight.”
I nodded, looking anywhere but at him, like looking at him would be a language all its own and a conversation I wasn’t supposed to be having.
“Do you want to go to breakfast tomorrow?” he asked.
The question made me look up. “How? You have to leave at like six a.m. to make it there by eight.”
“I can skip it. We could take the boys somewhere if you want. Or we could do dinner if you already have plans. I could come over Sunday too…”
I pulled my face back. “What do you mean you can skip it?”
“I won’t go. Just tell me when I can see you.”
I blinked at him. “You came all the way over here to go to that. Why would you not go to that?”
Silence.
I gave him a wary look. “Xavier…”
“What?”
“There is a conference,” I said.
He was quiet for a beat. “Yes, there is.”
“It’s important for your continued education requirement,” I said, repeating what he’d told me.
“Yes.”
I paused. “Are you registered for it?”
Silence again.
“No,” he said. “No, I’m not.”
I stared at him. “Are you kidding me…?” I breathed.
He just peered at me. Those beautiful blue eyes, looking apologetic.
“Xavier!”
“I’m sorry—”
“You flew here for me,” I deadpanned. “You came all the way over here under false pretenses in the hope that I would go out with you.”
“I had to see you—”
I turned and started unlocking my door.
“Samantha—”
“No. You lied to me,” I said, not turning around. The lock was sticking. “This was a date. The whole fucking time it was a date .” I groaned. “Tattoos are so expensive,” I said, almost to myself. I hate it when Tristan is right.
My door wasn’t cooperating. A co-conspirator trying to keep me on the porch.
A hand came up from behind me and rested gently under my elbow. “Samantha…”
My heart slammed against my rib cage at the contact. The key stilled in the lock.
He hadn’t touched me since the last time he was here, almost three months ago.
His touch was like kryptonite. I lost the strength to move. Or the will. Or both.
He came up behind me. Closed on me like a wall of him . I felt the heat from his body warming the tiny space between us, the piney scent I kept breathing in from his jacket when we sat at the firepit, advancing on me, drifting around me in an invisible caress I wanted to draw into my lungs.
“Please…” he whispered.
His hands slipped around my waist and he drew my back to his chest in a soft hug. So gentle a small breeze could blow him off me—but I couldn’t.
His nose dipped into my hair and he breathed in.
I put my forehead to the door and squeezed my eyes shut.
He’d come back for me.
It was so… everything. It was romantic and sweet and what every woman wants—only I knew that even though I wanted him, this was bad. An addiction that would only get stronger and I’d never get enough of him to satisfy me. This was reckless. Completely irrational. We could never work.
So why was I unable to tell him no?
I knew if I asked him to, he’d let me go and leave. All I had to do was say the words.
But I couldn’t. Because I’d used up my words. All the strength and resolve that I’d had for this situation were gone. I gave it all the last time and I had nothing left.
I should never have gone to dinner with him. I should have blocked him, months ago.
But even as I thought that, I knew he would have shown up here anyway. If he was feeling even half of what I felt, he was always going to come back. And would I have been strong enough to not open the door when he did? No. Definitely no.
My thin dress provided absolutely no barrier between his body and mine.
His gentle breathing rose and fell against my bare shoulder blade, blew over my skin in humid currents. It rocked me like a tide, pulling me closer and closer.
If I turned around, I was going to lose myself. There would be no control. At all.
I wanted to turn around.
Be face-to-face with him while he held me like this. Maybe stand on my tiptoes and nuzzle his Adam’s apple. Kiss the sharp edge of his jaw, the soft corner of his mouth, feel him smile under my lips.
“I missed you,” he whispered from behind me. “I can’t stop thinking about you. I tried. I really did. And I’m sorry I came here without telling you the truth, but I didn’t think you’d see me and I just… I just needed to be in the same room as you.”
I let out a puff of air.
“We can’t do this,” I breathed.
“Not seeing you is terrible,” he said quietly. “And I don’t want to do it anymore.”
That’s it. I gave up.
I turned around and kissed him.