“Trust me, I’m as surprised as everyone else.”
“It tells you that you need to keep trying new things. You may not be good at all of them, but you could discover some hidden talents.”
Wasn’t he the sweetest for saying that? “Maybe, but I doubt I’ll ever be good at kayaking.”
“I could take you in a two-person kayak…”
“You mean you’d do all the work, and all I’d have to do is sit and look pretty?” I fanned myself dramatically. “I’m sure I can do that.”
He grinned. “Something like that. Unless you don’t like the water.”
“I love it. I’m a good swimmer. We all learn as kids in the Netherlands. Since we have so many rivers, lakes, creeks, you name it, being able to swim is considered crucial, so everyone learns in school.”
“That’s amazing. Every year, people drown because they end up in the water and can’t swim.”
“Exactly. I used to swim all the time, but…” Even thinking of Gerard made my chest contract. “My ex didn’t like it, so I stopped.”
Howell squeezed my hand and opened the passenger door of his truck for me. He gave me a little boost to get in and closed the door. He looked pensive as he buckled up and started the engine. “If you enjoy different things than your partner, it doesn’t mean you shouldn’t do them anymore. Lori-Ann, my ex-wife, loved going to flea markets and yard sales, which are my absolute nightmare, but I still wanted her to go. So she went with her friends while I went fishing with the boys, which she hated. There should be room for the things you love, shouldn’t there?”
He was so right. Unfortunately, it had taken me way too long to realize how much I’d given up for Gerard. Bit by bit, I had disappeared to make him happy, and in the end, it still hadn’t been enough. In hindsight, it was all so easy to see, but when I’d been in the middle of it, his arguments that if I truly loved him, I wouldn’t do things he didn’t like had sounded normal and persuasive.
“I didn’t mean to make you sad,” Howell said softly.
“Just bad memories, is all. Not your fault.”
“Are you hungry? I’d planned for us to get dinner, but Clara served a lot of really yummy hors d’oeuvres, so I’m not sure how hungry you are.”
“I could eat a little, but not a whole meal.”
“How about some ice cream? There’s an ice cream shop here with the best Italian ice cream.”
Ice cream? Now there was a man after my own heart. “Yes, please.”
Hand in hand, we walked to the ice cream parlor, its vintage sign promising cool delights. Stepping inside was like wandering into a childhood dream, lured by the scent of sugar and waffle cones and the rows of vibrant flavors nestled in their frosty beds.
“Rocky Road for me,” Howell said with the confidence of a man who knew his pleasures. His choice sparked no surprise. He was the embodiment of rugged terrain and sweet surprises.
“Strawberry, please,” I said. The girl behind the counter, with her pierced nose and bubblegum-pink hair, flashed us an approving smile as she scooped our selections onto cones.
We found a corner booth, the vinyl squeaking beneath us as we settled in. The first bite of my ice cream was a burst of pure, creamy delight, and judging by the look on Howell’s face, his was just as satisfying.
“How long will you be staying?” Howell asked. “I forgot to ask.”
“The plan was six weeks, of which three have already passed. So only three more weeks.”
The words hung suspended above our half-eaten treats, and a bitter pang of sorrow mingled with the sweetness on my tongue. It was a strange concoction, this blend of joy and impending loss, and I searched Howell’s face for clues as to what he was thinking.
Only three more weeks. Was that even enough to build anything with Howell? Maybe enough for a hookup, but not for anything more. Not that I was opposed to sex with this man. Hell no. If he asked me to go to his place after, I was totally on board.
But I wanted more with him…and he gave me the impression he wanted that too. Otherwise, he would’ve asked for a hookup instead of a date. So, where did that leave us? Was three weeks sufficient to get to know each other and see if we had something real?
Howell paused his hand midair, the cone forgotten, a myriad of emotions flickering across his face like shadows cast by firelight.
“Three weeks,” he echoed softly, setting his cone on the napkin-strewn table. His fingers found mine atop the cold,sticky surface and enveloped them in a grip that was both firm and trembling ever so slightly. “That’s… It’s not long.”
The warmth of his touch seeped into my skin, chasing away the cold dread that had settled in my bones. The concern in his gaze held me captive, his handsome features etched with lines of determination.
“We can make it count though, right?” His voice was low, a tender rumble with an undercurrent of urgency. “I mean, we’ve got today and every day after until you have to leave.”
