He held out his hand. “Come here.”
She sucked on her lip for a second. Then she took his hand.
Cary pulled her onto the couch and put his arm around her shoulder, holding her close. He pressed his face into the top of her head and kissed her there.
After a minute, Shiloh wrapped an arm around his waist, curling against his chest.
Could she have had this? Then?
And since then?
No. Even if she’d gotten it right at nineteen, she would have fucked it up at some other point in the timeline. Shiloh had no confidence in her ability to hold on to someone else’s heart.
Cary kept squeezing her long after her own arm would have given out. And then he just held her. He rested his head on hers, and put his other arm around her, too.
He kept exhaling long, expressive breaths. Like,“What a mess.”And“Jesus Christ.”And“Here we are, I guess.”
Shiloh felt dozy. Crying always wore her out, and Cary’s arms offered some temporary respite. She wasn’t looking forward to whatever came next.
When Cary eventually lifted his head and touched her chin, Shiloh almost pretended to be asleep.
She looked up at him.
He looked sad.
He leaned forward an inch and kissed her.
Shiloh wasn’t expecting it, but she kissed him back—and immediately started crying again.
Cary kissed her through it. Long, sad kisses, with his hand cupped around the back of her head. These were kisses without hopes or ambitions. They were apologies. Eulogies. Shiloh’s tears slid into the corner of her mouth. Cary licked them.
When she realized that he wasn’t stopping, Shiloh sat up a little, making her mouth more available. Cary hummed and squeezed her neck. She gripped one hand in the front of his shirt. He kissed her and kissed her. If she emptied her head in his lap, all that would fall out was his name.
They sat on the couch and kissed goodbye for an hour or so. In another context, it would have been wonderful.
Even in this context, kissing Cary was fairly wonderful.
He was gentle and attentive. He rubbed her back and stroked her hair. And he didn’t mind being in charge—she could just let herself feel it all and respond.
Shiloh pulled back when her mom’s headlights slid across the front picture window. She moved a few inches away from him.
Cary kept his arm around her shoulder. He rubbed his mouth.
Shiloh wiped her eyes. She adjusted her sweater. She tracked her mom’s progress up the steps—the slam of the porch door, her keys in the lock.
Her mom startled when she saw Shiloh and Cary on the couch together. “Oh,” she said. “Cary. What a nice surprise.”
Cary nodded.
“We were just having some cake,” Shiloh said. “Would you like a piece?”
“Thanks”—her mom leaned over to take off her ankle boots—“but I’m going to fall asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow.”
That was a lie. She was going to drink a glass of wine and read half a romance novel.
“Good night,” Shiloh said.
“Good to see you again, Gloria,” Cary said in a gravelly voice.
