I have time.
I follow my nose toward the kitchen. Soft piano music fills the great room. Aulie always plays sweetly with a hint of a melancholy tone. Fire flickers in the stone hearth, framed by built-in bookshelves loaded with books from the floor to the ceiling. The curtains to the back windows are pulled open, revealing the pond and the rolling hills of red, orange, and yellow.
I rarely ever visit this time of the year, and as much as the reason why I’m here now sucks, there’s a charm about Chawton Falls in autumn, that softens the blow a fraction.
Leaning against the doorframe to the family room, I listen, balancing the pizza and flowers in one hand and shoving my other hand in my pocket.
Her fingers fly over the black and ivory keys, playing a tune she hummed regularly while doing the dishes or helping me somewhere this summer. I sigh and let myself relax after three hours of driving. My head grows heavy and droops forward as the sound of her playing lulls me into a quiet doze.
Thud.
The music stops. Aulie’s bench scratches against the hardwood. Blinking my eyes open, I find the bouquet on the floor.
“Sandra Bullock, Jack. Why the heck are you always so quiet?” Her tone isn’t quite scolding, but she barely meets my gaze.
I need to lay the charm on thick if I’m going to get myself out of this. A broad smile stretches across my face. “Most people say I’m heavy-footed.”
I’m never particularly verbally charming with this woman, but I can at least flash a devastating grin and hope for the best.
“Most people are liars, then.” She smiles back. We’re getting somewhere, good.
I lean down to pick up the flowers as she does the same.
“I’ve got it, Dessy.” Sometimes, when Aulie bends, she has this face after, like she’s clearly in pain, but she doesn’t want anyone else to know, and I’ve messed up enough this week to add that face to my guilt-list. My fingers brush against hers, and I’m tempted to let the touch linger.
“You’ve got your hands full. Is that Tripoli’s?”
“Of course, it is. I had to get my girl her favorite treat before I came up here.” I wince the minute the words pass over my lips.
Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. That’s not something someone in the friend zone should say. Maybe I should have gone with something like,I also drilled a man because he suggested he wanted to be intimate with you. Aren’t I the best kind of friend?
Butnever“my girl,” douche. What were you thinking?
Her eyes snap to mine, and the sharp, curious stare catches me off guard. I snatch the flowers and stand straight, hitting my head on the wall behind me.
“Oh, my goodness. Are you okay?” Aulie’s delicate fingers feel for a bump on the back of my skull. The touch incinerates any hope I have of handling this situation well. My eyes linger on her soft pillow lips, and she rakes her teeth over them.
Holy hell. This woman is going to be the death of me.
“Fine.” I swallow, drowning in her intoxicating floral scent. The only time she smelled more dangerous was this summer, when she ran out of her soap and used mine. Something feral broke inside me when she bent to tend to my bandages, and I caught a whiff. If I closed my eyes, I could pretend she smelled like that because she was just as much mine as I’ve so desperately been hers for the past five years.
“Smashing. Really.” I gently grab her hand and pull it down. Because she’s not mine, and never will be.
She can’t be.
“Wall, hello there.” She smiles softly at me, but it doesn’t reach her eyes like it normally does. A pang of longing sounds in the hollow of my chest cavity for the lines that usually rim the corner of her eyes when she’s genuinely happy.
Her thumb runs errant circles on the top of my hand, and that hollow pang gives way to a dramatic thud. But she’s touching and joking with me, which she doesn’t do when she’s angry, so maybe I read too much into her ignored calls and texts.
My gaze drops to our point of contact, and hers follows. Her eyes widen, almost like she didn’t realize what she was doing, and she rips her hand from mine.
The sensations border dangerously close to morphing into feelings—and, can’t have that.
In my avoid-all-emotions panic, I shove the box of pizza and flowers at her. “These are for you.”
Luckily, Dessy is used to me operating at an eleven around her. I doubt she even knows that there’s a side of me that is calm and collected, so she catches the box with relative ease. “Thank you?”
“I’m sorry, I uhm—broke my promise to be on my best behavior during the game. But I’ve missed you, so if you could find it in your heart to forgive me and stop this ghosting business, I’d appreciate it.”
