“I’m not interested in online dating,” I tell her.“In fact, I’m not interested in dating, period.Maybe I’m meant to be a bachelor for life.”
“I don’t believe that.You have way too much love to give to be single forever.”She avoids my eyes as she speaks, staring at the label on the wine bottle instead.
I shouldn’t ask the question that’s tickling the back of my throat.Itellmyself not to ask it.And yet it slips past my lips anyway.“Are youjealous, Fi?”
Her eyebrows inch up.She opens her mouth to speak, but when no words come out, she takes another slug from the bottle before trying again.“I shouldn’t be.I have no right to be.”
“That’s not an answer,” I say, even though we both know her admission is exactly that.
When we were together, she’d often point out when girls were checking me out or flirting with me.I was oblivious to it because all I saw was Fiona.All Iwantedwas Fiona.I never doubted her when she told me she wasn’t jealous.She always said ‘you’re mine and I’m yours, and that’s all that matters’.
“I’m not a jealous person,” she says, echoing my thoughts.“I know you’ve dated over the years, and figured you might have even had relationships I didn’t know about.I want that for you.Youdeservethat—some amazing woman who will love you and care for you.Someone who will choose you again and again, day after day, forever.”
In other words:not her.
I clear my throat, holding my hand out for the bottle.“And what about you?Have you dated?Had relationships?I don’t imagine it’s easy with your schedule.”
“It’s not,” she agrees.“Romantic relationships are a foreign concept to me at this point.As for dating…I haven’t done much of that either, not really.I’ve had the occasional fling and one-night stand.”
She watches me unflinchingly as she says this, as if she’s gauging my reaction.Maybe she’s hoping she’s not the only one who’s jealous.She’s not, and I hate myself for it.
She breaks eye contact and leans back, supporting her weight on her hands so she can look up at the skylight.A small smile flirts around her mouth.She always loved stargazing and looking at the moon.There were countless nights in our childhood and teen years when she’d drag me outside and lay a blanket down so we could watch the stars.I grumbled about it sometimes, but I secretly loved that time with her.
I loved it even more after we became a couple and it involved snuggling, which usually led to making out.The summer before she left, we spent many nights in the bed of my truck, lying on piles of blankets, listening to music, and stargazing.Most nights, I spent more time looking at her than at the sky.
“So,” she says suddenly.“You’re another year older.Do you feel any wiser?”
There’s a sharp tug in my chest, a mix of bitter and sweet that causes a deep ache.That was a question Murph always asked on our birthdays.He would tell us that each year should feel different: some were for learning, and some were for growing, while others were for healing or blooming.This last year has felt like holding myself together so I wouldn’t fall apart.
“Right now I certainly feel older, but I don’t know about wiser.”If I were wiser, I wouldn’t be in this treehouse right now.I wouldn’t be looking at Fiona and wondering if her hair is still as soft as it used to be.I wouldn’t be thinking about what it would be like to lay her down on this blanket and make her see stars of a different kind.
The wine must have dulled my senses because I wasn’t aware Fiona had moved until she’s kneeling in front of me.Her hands land on my shoulders, her touch light and hesitant.When I don’t move, she grips me tighter, massaging my shoulders.With a heavy sigh that ruffles the hair around her face, I reach out to grasp her hips.
“Do you still regret what happened between us last night?”she asks.
“It’s not that I regretted it, I just knew it wasn’t smart.”
She makes a soft humming sound.“Well, you said it yourself, you’re not sure if you’re any wiser…”
I’m not certain which one of us moves first, but in the next instant, we’re kissing.It’s familiar and new all at once.Her soft, full lips part under mine, giving me a taste of strawberries and cherries mixed with the unique sweetness Fiona always had.The kiss deepens, and my hands dive into her hair, tangling in the silky tresses and stirring up her familiar tropical scent.For years, I avoided anything that smelled like coconut, papaya, or mango because it reminded me of Fiona and alternately made me angry and turned on.Sometimes both.
The memory of that has me breaking away, my grip on her arms a bit too rough as I push her back.“We shouldn’t.It’d complicate things, and we’re finally on the right track after all these years.”
She watches my mouth as I speak.Her lips are slightly parted, red and wet and oh-so-tantalizing.She blinks, and her gaze flicks up to meet mine.“Of course.You’re right.”
I’m glad she thinks so, because I’m not sure Iamright.“I should go.”I rise clumsily from the blanket, grabbing my boots without taking time to put them on.I don’t allow myself to look back at her as I cross the room.My hand is on the doorknob when she says my name.Her voice is so soft, I might have imagined it.I’m tempted to keep going, but something compels me to face her once more.
Her hair is in disarray from my greedy hands, and she’s brushing absently at her swollen bottom lip.She opens her mouth as if she wants to say something, then closes it again, offering me a rueful smile.
The combination of that smile and her dishevelled appearance makes something snap inside me.I barely recognize the low growl of my own voice as I say, “Fuck it.”
Fiona’s eyes go wide as I toss my boots to the ground and cross the room in a few strides.A breathy sound escapes her as I drop to my knees in front of her.She reaches for me, her fingers tangling in the front of my shirt as my mouth descends on hers.If our kiss before was intense, this one is an inferno, and I’d happily let the flames devour me whole if it meant I could hang onto this, toher.
Her hands remain fisted in my shirt as she shifts from her knees to her butt.With our mouths still fused, I cup the back of her head and ease her down onto the blanket, nudging her legs wider so I can position myself between them.I’m growing harder by the second, and the way Fiona rocks against me is muddling my brain.
This time, she’s the one who breaks away first.“What are we doing?”The question comes out so fast it sounds like one long, breathless word.
I push myself up to sit on my knees between Fiona’s legs.The sight of her laid out in front of me, chest heaving, hair splayed on the blanket beneath her, dress rucked up high on her pale thighs, is nearly too much.It makes all sorts of reckless thoughts and feelings race through me.I take her hands and pull her into a seated position.Being face-to-face with her and feeling her breath on my skin isn’t much better.
