Annabelle
Now
Hayes ushers me from his truck to Laura’s front porch with his hand on my lower back; the heat from his touch soaks through my sweater. I bend to lift one of the terra-cotta flowerpots decorating her porch and grab the spare house key hidden beneath it.
Turning to Hayes, I’m suddenly hyperaware of his proximity. We’ve been in close quarters all evening, in his truck and on his couch, but standing here in the dark on the front porch feels different. This setting creates expectations, reminding me of the end of an awkward high school date where the girl wonders if the hot guy will kiss her on herparents’ doorstep.
In hindsight, those high school days feel so simple. Boy likes girl and girl likes boy. But now, everything is messier and more nuanced. Layered in doubt and hesitation and complications. Nothing comes with a clear yes or no answer.
Lately, I’ve been open to casual dating; however, Hayes is my kryptonite. He glances in my direction, and I want to strip off my clothes and jump his bones. I still feel the same attraction to him I did a year ago, only it’s even stronger now.
But does he?
There were times tonight when he looked at me with such craving, like he wanted to consume me, but it’s possible I misread him. Perhaps I mistook his attention and kindness for desire. Maybe he was just being nice to me because he knew Kyle. I’ve become accustomed to receiving pity from people when they find out what happened to my family. Or… he might only be looking for a repeat performance, another one-night stand. So, as much as I want him to push me up against the door and kiss me with reckless abandon, I’ve got to tap the brakes on my libido.
But, God, do I ever want him to kiss me again.
Reading the apprehension on my face, Hayes steps back, leaning his tall frame against the porch railing, giving me some space. But then our eyes lock, and the air between us crackles with anticipation.
Surely, I’m not misinterpreting this situation and these feelings. This is a mutual attraction. Right?
He pushes off from the railing, stalking me as I stumble back, my spine hitting the cold brick wall of the house. Bracketing his forearms on either side of my head, he pins me to the wall without even touching me.
I tremble under his watchful stare, my body begging him to reach for me. Slowly, he lowers his arms, sliding his hands down the sides ofmy torso until they come to rest on my waist. Hayes leans down, pressing his forehead to mine. Gazing at me, I swear he can see straight into my soul. His lips hover above my own, and the urge is overwhelming to rise onto my tiptoes and kiss him. Does he taste the same? Will his lips feel the same? Will kissing him still set off fireworks within my belly?
I think I know the answer to that last question.
Just then, the front door swings open and we spring apart, startled at the intrusion.
“You gonna come in—oh! Oh my God, I’m sorry!” Laura yelps, slamming the door shut behind her.
Hayes’ lips twitch. “Why do I suddenly feel like a kid who just got busted by my date’s parents?”
“I had a parallel thought earlier.” I smile. “I’m just glad it was my best friend who caught us, and not one of my kids.”
And once those words leave my mouth, I remember why dating anyone, much less someone who’s famous, will be difficult for me, and the positive feelings from tonight—the elation at seeing Hayes again, the discovery that I’m still attracted him—deflate a little.
Our story isn’t a Hollywood movie or Disney fairy tale. We had an enjoyable night, which gave us both the opportunity to get answers and closure, but we don’t have a future. Despite Hayes’ earlier proclamations, our lives differ too vastly for a relationship to work.
And that’s assuming Hayes wants anything more serious than another roll in the hay.
I smile again, but this time, it’s a wistful one. Pointing to the door, I say, “I'd better get inside. It was nice seeing you again, Hayes.”
Hayes parts his lips like he’s about to say something, then thinks better of it. Instead, he shoots me a smoldering look, presses a kiss to my cheek, and heads for his truck.
“Bye, Hayes,” I murmur after him, watching as he walks away.
When he’s halfway down the sidewalk, Hayes turns around, calling out, “Annabelle, whatever this is between us… it isn’t finished.”
A tendril of hope unfurls within me.
He waits, with his truck idling, until I open Laura’s door before driving away. When the front door closes, I slump against it, shutting my eyes and sliding to the floor.
I’m exhausted and exhilarated. My mind is racing, but my brain is overloaded. In my wildest dreams, I never could have entertained the idea that my date with Josh would lead me to reuniting with Hayes. Or that they both knew Kyle.
How the hell did these different aspects of my life intersect in such a powerful, random way?Apparently, fate has a perverse sense of humor.
“So, how’d it go?”
