When I turn to look up at him, he meets me with a guilty smile. He steps closer and grabs my wrists, slowly bringing my hands to his mouth. He kisses each hand two times and I ignore the tingles on my flesh.
“I have a proposition,” he says. “If anything happens and it’s not going to go against your code of ethics, will you tell me so I can take you out?”
I throw myself in his arms, pressing my cheek against his chest, memorizing thethrum-thrum-thrumof his heartbeat and wishing time could move at a dreamlike pace so that could be now.
“Deal,” I say, because that’s the only word my heart will allow with my body this close to his.
“Or we could just run away together.”
The suggestion makes me laugh, and my chest ache. I’m going to miss him more than I care to admit. I turn my face to look up at him, trying to memorize his features and how it feels to be looked at the way he looks at me.
My throat tightens and my eyes well up. “I might cry,” I confess just as I blink and a tear falls down my cheek. He swipes it away with his thumb, then kisses the wet spot on my cheekbone.
“It’s okay to cry,” he whispers, still holding me. His eyes search my face. “I don’t want to leave you.”
“Maybe it’s just for now though.” I sniff. “Just give me some time to figure things out with Ellie. But until I do, we really shouldn’t talk...”
My voice trails because then what? Two years is a long and unreasonable amount of time to wait for someone.
We hold our stare for a moment, both of us acknowledging our open-ended goodbye. Finally, he squeezes me tightly and kisses the top of my head, before pulling away and escaping out my apartment door.
I watch him disappear down the hallway, and I close the door behind me and lean against it. I wait a full thirty seconds before letting out a groan. This has never happened to me, and I realize I’m more invested in the possibility than anything that’seven happened. Maybe that’s what is leaving me hopeful. We’ve shared thoughts and dreams—our bodies and midnight kisses. But we haven’t shared our entire lives. We haven’t had time. Not yet, at least.
Tears fall down my face as I slide down the door. I’m utterly disappointed. Apparently, falling in love is easy. It’s a silent sweep. A reckless hope that knocks the wind out of you.
My gaze lands on the wine stain on the carpet. It won’t come out. And I don’t want it to. I want to bear the mark of JP until we can meet again.
My phone vibrates and I check the text.
GUY FROM THE PLANE:Miss you already.
See you in two years, I text. He responds immediately.
GUY FROM THE PLANE:Until I see you again.
You will have many loves, most will be him.
What a load of shit that turned out to be.
Gramma Elle
“Get married. Get baptized. Or go back to school.”
“HEY, GRAMMA,” I SAY, climbing the steps of her porch.
She isn’t rocking in her chair. She’s leaning forward, her legs crossed, as her gaze follows me up the steps.
“How have you been?” I ask.
“Loved, honey. I’ve been loved,” she says, and the false smile drops off my face. “You’re disappointed about something.”
My chest strains as I try to force back a cry. It doesn’t seem worth crying over. But the word,disappointed, reminds me that, “I am so disappointed.”
“You liked him.”
My face crumbles. “I liked him.”
“You know when I met Grandpa, we were friends for many, many years before we got married.”
