Page 34 of Meet Me Back Here

“Can you get the back, please? I can’t reach,” Forrest says, twisting while he reaches with his other arm across his torso, his fingers not quite reaching the back of the red splotch.

Lord give me strength.

“Mmhmm!” I agree, breathing through my nose to keep my heart rate from skyrocketing as I take the tube from Forrest. I hold my breath the whole time I press gentle circles into his skin, staring only at the task at hand even though I can feel the weight of Forrest’s gaze on me.

“When did you get that?” I ask as I put the cap back on the cream, nodding toward his tattoo.

Forrest looks at his side, smiling at the tree there.

“A few years ago,” he says, pulling his shirt back on, careful not to rub his sunburn or his cactus wound. “Since I wasn’t going around it anymore…” He trails off.

“Oh,” I say. So, it is the tree. He wasn’t going around there because his mom had moved, and we weren’t speaking.

“I wanted to remember,” he says.

“I understand,” I say. And I do. It’s still my favorite place.

I also picked up some ibuprofen from the resort store, so I grab the bottle from the shopping bag to distract myself.

“You should take a couple of these. They’ll help with the sunburn and your side,” I say, handing him the bottle.

“Thanks,” he says, taking two out and swallowing them dry. He gingerly sits back and adds, “You should do whatever you had planned today, but I think I might just stay here. I feel like crap.”

“Oh please,” I say, taking a spot on the couch and flipping on the television. “I already placed a delivery order for the best breakfast burrito you’ll ever taste and some groceries. Popsicles are on their way.”

Forrest rolls his head along the back of the couch to look at me.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you, Cam,” he says.

And maybe I got sunburned too because I feel warm everywhere.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

talk architecture to me

Forrest and I spend the entire day watching movies in our room, eating our snacks, and ordering more delivery. I didn’t end up writing anything else, but somehow it was ok. I can’t remember the last time I took a day for joy without feeling guilty about not writing. And when I think about going back to writing after my day off, it’s with excitement, not dread.

The following morning, Forrest yet again encourages me to go out and find my muse, but I decline. It feels too much like abandoning him. I’m sure my muse is just hiding under the bed or something.

We compromise when I agree to go out for Dutch Bros and bring drinks back for another resort day.

And by “compromise,” I mean he told me to go, I agreed, then I came back without him knowing and ended up walking back into our room as Forrest was stepping out of the bathroom in nothing but a towel after taking a cool shower to soothe his skin.

“Sorry!” I squeak, miraculously not dropping either of the cups as I flee into the bedroom and kick the door closed.

“I wanted to surprise you,” I say, thankful I got us both blended drinks today so I can hold a cool plastic cup to each of my cheeks while I remember how to breathe normally.

“It’s fine,” Forrest says gruffly, sounds of him rummaging through his suitcase reaching me even through the door. “You can come out now.”

I shift the cups into one hand and open the door, but keep my eyes tightly closed.

“You sure?” I ask, just in case, stretching out a leg and tapping my toe on the ground before I step to avoid walking into anything.

“Cam, knock it off. I’m not that bad.” He’s close. I can tell. I can feel his presence.

I open my eyes and find his juniper ones staring at me. He’s fully clothed now, but that smirk might be more dangerous than his body.

No, he’s not that bad at all.