Page 25 of Meet Me Back Here

“I say we toast to this little adventure we’ve embarked on together.” I tilt the bottle in Forrest’s direction to see if he’s game.

“Alright,” he says as he finishes making the bed. He takes the bottle and uncorks it, making it look easy even though I’m certain I’d have lost an eye if I tried.

I start searching the few cabinets for glasses, but only find disposable cups wrapped in plastic. I scrunch my nose at those. They hardly feel celebratory, though they are on theme for the way today has gone just a little bit sideways.

With a helpless look over at Forrest, I pick up the sad cups, but Forrest shakes his head, holding the bottle out to me.

“Just drink it, would you?” he instructs, scoffing lightly at my desire to be proper. “I promise I don’t have any cooties you don’t already have.”

Oh.

I do as I’m told, then Forrest takes the bottle, avoiding my eyes after his little quip toeing the line of mentioning our past. But he tips the bottle back, drinking from the same spot I just did.

“To Arizona adventures,” he says as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and passes the bottle back to me.

“To Arizona adventures,” I echo, taking another long pull and saying a silent prayer this trip goes well.

We pass the bottle between us a few more times before my eyelids start to droop. When I let out a very unladylike yawn that hinges my whole jaw open, I decide it’s time for sleep. I set the bottle in the fridge and take my turn in the bathroom first. Showering, changing into pajamas, doing my skincare routine, and brushing my teeth.

“All yours,” I announce to Forrest as he lazily flips through the channels on the TV.

“Thanks,” he says, standing and collecting his things. “And thanks for letting me come with you here.”

“Thanks for wanting to come,” I answer and close the bedroom door.

Despite staying up late to try and counteract the two-hour time change, I still wake early. Only a thin sliver of light sneaks in through the thick drapes, and it’s pale pink and soft.

I realize what view could be waiting for me outside and launch out of bed, throwing back the curtains to the start of dawn peeking over the horizon. The balcony I stepped onto yesterday from the living room stretches across the bedroom too, and I slide back the glass door to find a startled Forrest looking at me from where he’s sitting, wrapped in the blanket from his bed.

I guess he really didn’t pack for these November mornings and evenings. I shiver when my bare foot touches the cold concrete balcony, but I’m unwilling to go back inside for socks or my hoodie, lest I miss the sun beaming across the Arizona desert in a brilliant splash of pastels.

“I see you still wake up aggressively,” Forrest notes, another easy reference to our past. Sometimes I forget he knows what I’m like straight out of bed. I flush at him reminding me.

Forrest was always slow in the morning—sleepy, warm, soft.

“I do,” I admit. “Have you become a morning person, too?” I ask. He used to be very resistant to getting out of bed in the morning, and it’s early.

I reach for the cold banister to shock myself back to the present.

Forrest shakes his head. “Not a chance. I’m not sure what got me up today. I think it’s first-day excitement.”

This venture into my past in Arizona seems to have opened the door to other memories. Memories we shared. Maybe for both of us.

“I never want to miss a moment,” I say, trying to be just as casual about bringing up our past, even just little hints at it, but I feel anything but.

I picture those lazy mornings for him, when I’d get up, make coffee, and crawl back into bed, pressing my freezing feet to Forrest’s still-warm legs. I can practically feel the way he’d wrap an arm around me and pull me close in an attempt to make me stop trying to wake him.

Forrest rises from his chair and comes to stand beside me, throwing one end of his blanket around my shoulders before leaning forward to rest his forearms on the railing. We’re not touching, but the warmth from his body heats me everywhere.

Cool mornings under warm blankets with Forrest still seem to do it for me.

I tell myself the goosebumps peppering my arms are from the chill in the air.

We stand there together, quietly, watching golden light spill across the pool, mountain, cacti, and entire city. It’s theoretically the same sun that rises in Massachusetts, but here, it’s a different kind of breathtaking, even in November.

Today is the fresh start I need, and having Forrest by my side reminds me that a new beginning doesn’t need to happen alone.

CHAPTER TWELVE