I look down at my watch, seeing as it’s almost nine. Restaurants don’t stay open too late around here, but I think one of the pubs is open until ten. “We can go out for dinner. We can go right now since you’re free tonight.”
“I said I wasn’t busy, but now, it’s time to get home. I’ve got a gig tomorrow morning.”
If I let her know she’s torturing me, she’ll continue. “Okay, no problem.”
“I’ll find something in the freezer.”
Journey happens to be standing parallel to the freezer. Without taking her eyes off me, she opens the door and peeks inside. “Were you thinking of having ice cubes or the frozen slab of meat in the Ziplock bag? Although the tub of cookie-dough ice cream doesn’t look like a bad dinner.”
“And that is exactly what I was planning to have,” I say.
I wondered if she’d take the ice cream and invite herself to join me, but she closes the freezer door. “Well, I hope you enjoy your dinner. Thank you for sharing the rest of your story with me after I was a jerk last night.”
Oddly, she has no questions about what happened with Pete after that day. It’s like she either knows or doesn’t want to know. “Thanks for listening this time.”
She spins on her heels and walks out toward the family room. She is the most confusing person I have ever met.
I follow her, but nearly walk right into her when she stops and turns around. “Brody, is Pete alive? Did he make it through that awful time?” she asks.
If I hold my focus on her eyes and swallow the lump in my throat, I hope her question will magically go away.
She’s looking at me as if I’m speaking words she can’t hear, but I haven’t said a word. Journey’s head tilts to the side, and stress lines form on her forehead. “Brody?”
“Yeah?” I respond.
“Pete … is he—”
The pain in my chest accompanies the sensation of my heart pounding. I feel trapped when I have plenty of room to move, more than enough words to answer her question. I have a brick wall protecting me from allowing the haunting thoughts to return to a place I can’t let them back.
I need to end the conversation. I shouldn’t have started in the first place. It was a mistake to share this information, just as I thought it would be. “I—um, I—”
“It’s okay,” she says. A cold sweat drapes over me like a thick blanket, but then her lips touch mine, and instead of my pulse racing like it should, it slows—my body relaxes, and the darkness fades into the well-lit room. Her hands cup around the back of my neck—they’re cold, sending chills down my spine. She’s shorter than I am, so I scoop my arm around her back and lift her, making it easy for our lips to meet Her legs wrap around my waist, but she breaks her lips away, dropping her forehead to mine. “I can’t cure anything—I can’t fix anyone. I can’t even mend a broken heart, and I’ve tried. I don’t want to let you down.”
I lift my chin to reclaim her lips. She doesn’t need to explain anything or fix me. I just need this. My heart knew it that one stupid New Year’s Eve. There’s something about her—only her—that takes away my pain and untamable thoughts.
I become dizzy while spinning around in circles, searching for a wall to lean her up against. By the time I find one, her arms tighten around my neck, telling me she doesn’t want to move or let go. I pull away, feeling breathless. “I want you, but not just for a one-night-stand. I want to know what’s next.”
“Time. More time. Just this. I like this part. It reminds me of that night. It reminds me of how much there is before the rest of what comes after.” While her words are completely understandable and honest, they have the opposite effect on me than she thinks they will.
I place her down on her feet. “I want to take you out to dinner when you are free and ready,” I say.
“Will you shave?”
I can’t help but laugh. She won’t drop it with the beard. “I don’t know,” I say, running fingers down the side of the overgrown hair.
“What do you have against the beard?”
Her nose scrunches. “Not my thing.”
“It doesn’t have to be, and quite frankly, I’m glad it isn’t your thing.”
She shakes her head. “Goodnight, Brody.”
I lean down and give her another quick kiss. “Drive safe and call or text me when you lock your apartment door, please.”
“That’s way too fast for me,” she whispers. “We’re not there yet.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “I worry about my friends, so whatever it is you’re afraid of happening between us, I’d tell you to text me when you got home whether you were a dude or—well, you.”
