At least scorpions can’t fly
at least scorpions can’t fly
SUMMER
Itap my horn as Forrest clambers out of Sky Harbor, lopsided from all the bags he’s lugging as he hurries toward me. He drops them all to catch me when I leap out of the car and into his arms.
After the two of us spent the last seven months traveling back and forth between Phoenix and Boston, Forrest is finally here for good.
He’s been mailing things for a few weeks, so it’s almost like he’s already moved in. But nothing is as good as having him here in the flesh.
On top of the misery of being separated, the past several months have been insane.
A whirlwind in the best way. Thanks in large part to Forrest’s help, we were able to sell my old house in Massachusetts.
And Forrest has become a fully licensed architect with a few job prospects lined up out here.
I’ve somehow survived a whole semester at DCU.
Like Forrest had predicted, Jigsaw adjusted perfectly to Arizona. I actually think he might somehow be the happiest of us all, never wanting for a sunbeam to lie in. Just wait until he finds out Forrest—who is completely wrapped around Jigsaw’s fuzzy little paw—will be with us permanently.
“Damn, it’s good to see you,” Forrest says as he sinks into me, tightening his arms around my back.
“Let’s never do that distance thing again,” I say before I tip my head back to kiss the underside of his jaw.
“Deal,” Forrest agrees as he pinches the front of his shirt, pulling it away from his chest to try to get some airflow. “Arizona really turned up the heat to welcome me, huh?”
“Welcome to the desert,” I say, disentangling myself from his side before one of the officers out here comes by to tell me to get moving. I pop the trunk for Forrest to load his suitcases while I drop his duffel in the back seat.
I hear a loud swear from the back of the car and rush to Forrest’s side.
“What happened?” I ask, scanning him for sign of injury.
His gaze is fixed inside the truck of my car. When I peer inside, I find the carcass of a tiny scorpion curled in the corner.
“Is that a scorpion?” he asks, eyes wide.
I pull a tissue from my pocket, scoop it out, and throw it away.
“I swear that never happens,” I say when I return. Forrest is still staring into the trunk, and the car behind us honks impatiently.
“Any regrets?” I ask Forrest, wondering if he’s about to head back inside to find a flight far away from here.
Forrest shudders but snaps out of his shock.
“None,” he says, heaving up his suitcase and dropping it into the trunk. He takes hold of my hand to spin me toward him before I get in the car.
“I’m exactly where I should be,” he says, kissing me for all the world to see. “Scorpions and all.”