SESSION THREE
DESERT FLOWER THERAPY
“This might be where it really begins. My story, I mean." I shift on the couch. "I know I said it was the fire, and technically it was. But some days I wonder if Gabrielwasthe fire. Because it honestly felt like after I met him, my entire world was engulfed in flames.”
“You had chemistry.” Dr. Ruben says it simply, but that one word cannot encompass all we had. All we were.
I trail a fingertip over my forearm. Even now, I feel it. That heat, just from talking about Gabriel. “It was like I came alive when I met him. Like I was asleep, and he woke me.”
Dr. Ruben frowns, disapproval in the parentheses formed on either side of his mouth.
I don’t ask why.
I know why.
He gestures for me to speak.
CHAPTER 5
The dayof my coffee meeting with Gabriel coincides with my last interview for my research project.
I’m in the final stretch of my degree program to become a marriage and family therapist. The end part of the program is completing a research project, and I’ve chosen to study longevity in marriage. Much of my research has been conducted through interviews of people who’ve been married far longer than I’ve been alive.
The Bergmans, married fifty-two years next month, appear to be two halves of the same whole. Albert spoke only once, but Ingrid chatted long after I finished taking notes. She showed me their four children and twelve grandchildren, one of whom is expecting. She talked proudly about their occupations and adventures, and her opinion on all of it.
When I finally mentioned I had a date I was going to be late for, she shooed me from the room.
A lump has parked itself in my throat for most of my drive to this coffee shop. I pull into a parking spot, flipping down my visor and checking my makeup and teeth in the mirror.
My heart and my pulse? Different story. My heartbeat is everywhere, all at once.
I go on dates, but this one feels big in comparison. Like all dates before today were practice. This one? It's the real thing.
Gabriel sits at a table for two in the corner. He wears dark jeans, and a light-blue shirt. I can’t decide if he’s more breathtaking in or out of uniform. He smiles when he sees me, a grin that doesn’t hold pretense. My knees wobble as I make my way over. He stands when I’m halfway there, running his hands once down his thighs. His nervousness is both disarming and endearing.
“Hi, Avery.”
He steps out from his side of the table, surprising me by reaching for my hand. He takes another step at the same time he pulls me in for a hug.
It’s a real, solid hug. Nothing flimsy or awkward, where only our sides meet. This is a full on, chest to chest hug.
I melt into him. Into his wide chest, round shoulders, and the feeling of safety that comes part and parcel with this man. Beneath the fabric is hard muscle, ridges and bumps I could get lost in, and a scent I never want to forget. He rubs my back, his hand moving up and down, and I allow the feelings to wash over me, both the vulnerability and the soothing. Two things I rarely allow myself, but letting Gabriel be the liberator of both feels like a foregone conclusion.
He releases me, but not for long. He takes my hand, leading me through the tables of people and to the counter to order. He gestures for me to go first, so I recite my usual. Cold brew, no room.
Gabriel orders and pays. I could have paid for mine, but I like the way he pulled out his wallet and handed her a ten, as if me paying wasn’t in his realm of thinking. We take our coffees back to the table.
“So,” Gabriel says, leaning forward. He props his elbows on the table’s edge, his palms gripping his coffee. “How are you? I’ve been in plenty of fires, but never the way you were.”
“Would you mind if we didn’t talk about the fire? I know we made this…” I falter on the word. I don’t want to say ‘date.’ “…planto meet based on the idea of talking about what happened, but…”
“Ready to not have it be the center of all your thoughts and conversations?” He lifts his eyebrows as he guesses my feelings.
I nod, relieved he understands. “Exactly.” The fire terrorizes my sleeping hours, and I’d like to keep it from my days. Last night I dreamed help never arrived, and I woke myself up before my dream-self leaped from the bedroom window.
Gabriel pushes at his shirt sleeves, sliding them up to the middle of his forearm. The fabric strains against the muscle, and a light dusting of dark hair peeks out. “Are you in school?” he asks, sipping his coffee.
He’s doing what I asked of him, and I appreciate that. “I’m in my second year of graduate school at ASU.”
