We are that close.
It would be so easy to lean in and wrap my mouth around hers. I certainly got away with doing that to other women, but as I raise my gaze back to her eyes, I find something in them.
It’s a vulnerability.
An unmistakable hesitation. That’s what I listen to when I turn my head away. If I ever do get the chance to kiss her, I don’t want to see any hesitation. I’ve turned my head with enough time to see the deer darting off, gracefully disappearing back into the trees. I whisper, “There they go.”
“Yep,” she whispers. “Goodbye, deer family.” She exhales slowly as she straightens up, brushing off her coat, and her smile straightens into something unreadable.
“Shall we go head back?” I stand beside her with a heart rate that’s louder than it should be. Automatically, I shove my hands back in my coat pockets, and we start trudging back the way we came. We don’t say anything, but the air between us is soft and dreamlike, filling my chest full of quiet encouragement. So much so that I take a risk. My heart’s hammering, not from the cold or the walk or even the almost-kiss we didn’t have, but from the sheer weight of what I’m about to do.
I hold my breath.
Slowly, I pull my hand out of my coat pocket, fingers stiff from the cold, and from the hundred what-ifs rushing through my mind. The air bites at my skin, but I barely feel it as I extend my hand toward her and open it in offering.
For a second, she doesn’t notice.
She’s focused on something ahead, and I don’t want to interrupt. When her foot creaks on a rotten plank, she glances down and sees my hand, just waiting for a reaction.
There’s a flicker in her expression, and I start to take my hand back, but she slips her hand into mine, again. This time, it feelsless like she’s holding it for safety, and more like she’s gripping on to something inside of me.
Like she’s saying a very quietyes.
We don’t look at each other.
We walk the rest of the way across the bridge and all the way back up the trail to my SUV. When we reach the passenger door, I open it for her and smile. She exhales, which I can’t tell if it’s in disappointment or relief.
Maybe both?
“We made it,” I say as I stand back for her to climb into my car.
“We did,” she says, adding, “It’s stupid, but I’m a little sad, knowing this is the last memory I will have of this place.”
I glance at her with the fading light touching the side of her face, and the weight of what she said settles in my chest. “It’s not stupid,” I say quietly. “I feel it too.”
I wait for her to get in, and I shut her door for her and hustle back to my side, get in, and crank the engine.
She shifts in her seat, turning slightly toward me, her eyes cutting at me with a bit of an angled slant. There’s a glint in her expression that twists something low in my chest. “I wasn’t sure why you exactly asked me to come, but I’m glad you did. Thank you. This was a wonderful way to spend the evening. I didn’t even realize I needed to say goodbye to a bridge. It was so oddly healing.”
“I’m glad you came. It felt more special to make this trip with someone else who also had fond memories, and now we have a memory of the bridge together.”
“Right.” She lets out an airy laugh. “We will always have our icicle for two.”
I laugh too, as I shift the SUV into reverse. The tires crunch softly over the snow as I back away from the bridge, carefully cranking the wheel to turn us around. The sun’s dropped belowthe trees now, casting everything in a rich honeyed gold that makes winter feel warmer than it is.
My hands move through the motions of driving us back to the main road, but my mind is far from automatic. I hadn’t planned for today to be a date. That wasn’t the point. I told myself this was about the bridge. It was supposed to be a casual trip with a touch of nostalgia, as we both shared memories
But now.
Now my heart is thudding like it missed the memo.
There’s a pulse at the base of my throat I can’t seem to calm. My palm still tingles from the weight of her hand in mine. And even though I’m focusing on the road ahead, my thoughts are still back there to what I swear was an almost-kiss.
I sneak a glance at her out of the corner of my eye. She’s relaxed in the seat beside me, and her lips are curved in that quiet smile again. Is she thinking about that moment too?
“Who would’ve thought that would happen,” I say, almost to myself, as I ease us onto the main road. “But it’s kind of the perfect way to remember the day and our…”
I trail off, the sentence breaking apart in my throat.
