His posture softens along with his eyes as the past shifts between us, wrapping around us, uniting us.
‘Well, if you would go around flouting the rules...’
‘Says the guy who couldn’t flout a single one without breaking out in hives.’
And just like that he tenses, every one of his honed muscles drawing tight.
‘I’ve changed since then.’
It’s like he’s in my head, but the words are leaving my lips before I can stop them. ‘So I can see...’
And the real me—the daring, the confident, usually unperturbed one—comes to life and I let my eyes trail over him, full of provocation. I don’t care that I’m eating him with my eyes. I want to devour him. I want him to burn like I do. I want my presence to stir into life that part of him those women on the Internet have enjoyed over the intervening years...
‘This apology...’ I force my eyes back to his, spy the reciprocal fire I’ve succeeded in provoking. ‘I’m still waiting.’
He scoffs and it doesn’t become him... It becomes the old him, though, and I suck my lips in to stop the smile that wants to break free.
‘Ever the demanding one, Summer.’
‘Well, if you will leave a lady waiting...’
I see the retort burning in his gaze—I see no lady here—but he doesn’t say it. Twenty years ago he would have come straight out with it. Just for fun. Why not now?
Maybe he’s more attuned to what sent me running all those years ago than I give him credit for...or maybe he’s just grown up.
In either case, the humour and the passion are no more. I’m chilled to the bone.
‘This apology?’
His eyes sharpen and I wonder if he’s sensed the shift...
He clears his throat, gives an abrupt nod. ‘I am sorry, Summer. I’ve had time to reflect. I’ve also had time to read the letter Gran left...have you read yours?’
He spies it poking out on the table and I shake my head. ‘Not yet.’
I see the question in his eyes—why not?
‘I—I’ll get to it when I’m ready.’
‘Right...’
There’s a pause, and I know he’s pondering my reaction, and all the emotions that feed my hesitancy start to clamber for attention.
‘So, you’ve read the letter and...?’ I throw the focus back on him, smother the inner turmoil.
‘And I don’t agree with what she has done, nor much of what she put in her letter, but this is her last request and I will respect it...to a point.’
‘To a point...?’ I repeat numbly, wondering how far that point will go. Do I get a tent in the garden? A toilet in the outhouse? Are we really doing this? Living together?
My heart starts to race...
‘Yes. And the sooner we can talk it through the better.’
I can’t respond. There are no words for this...this craziness.
‘So, come with me?’
‘Wait. What?’ Panic kickstarts my voice. ‘Come with you where?’