Page 25 of Forgotten Romance

I steer the conversation back to safer ground. “So … next weekend. I think I can get it out of you.”

His face lights up. “Nope. My lips are sealed.”

“What if I guess? Will you say yes or no?”

“Hmm … maybe.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Of course it is. It means I’ll answer unless you get it right, then I’ll be all edgy about it.”

“Edgy, huh?” I rub my stubble. “Let’s see … that science museum in Springfield?”

“Nope!” His expression shifts. “Wait. I take it back. I just realized I can’t answer at all, or it will be obvious.”

The panic on his face is so cute I can’t stop myself from laughing. Can’t stop myself from touching him, even if it’s only to give his arm a squeeze. He just makes me happy. “You’re right. I’ll let it go so you can have your surprise.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m excited though. No pressure.”

“Suddenly feeling all the pressure.”

We smile at each other for so long it makes me remember when it was always like this. My heart aches for it again, and I can picture how easily it would be for me to lean forward and kiss him. I remember exactly how those lips feel. Exactly how he tastes and the sounds he makes.

It’s sweet, sweet torture to have had it all and lost it. And with no changes in my future, it would be unfair of me to act on any of it, even if I see that same longing staring right back at me.

I clear my throat. “Car one, it is.”

I grab the box and stand, and Mack follows me stiffly a second later. Only he’s too enthusiastic. He shoves to his feet, hip knocking the corner of the table, and when he jolts back a step, I try to steady him.

Wrong move.

Mack stumbles off-balance and falls back into my shelves, throwing out a hand to catch himself. The whole wall of sets sways concerningly, and while I’m watching my babies, prepared to catch any that fall, Mack’s hand closes over the gun turret of my Millennium Falcon.

Instead of catching himself from falling, Mack crashes to the ground, and my spaceship flips and follows him.

I watch, like it’s in slow motion, as the set that took me over a week to build hits the cement floor and explodes. Six thousand carefully constructed pieces shoot in every direction, and as the shattering and crashing goes silent, two smaller sets smash over the top of the mess.

The ringing in my ears that follows is deafening.

Mack’s mouth is somewhere around his ankles.

“Holy … shit. Fuck. Davey, I’m so … so sorry. I didn’t … I didn’t mean …” His voice breaks, and I know I need to reassure him, know it wasn’t his fault, but my voice has vacated me. I’m frozen.

My pride and fucking joy is a mess of mismatched pieces on the floor. I don’t know if I have the energy to hunt down every tiny piece, then sort through the ones that don’t belong. Where the hell did I even put the instructions?

“Fuck!” I knew it. I knew I should have glued it. Knew with Van around that I was tempting fate, but I’d wanted to carefully pull it apart when he was older and build it again with the two of them. My fingers get lost somewhere in my curls as my mind races at how the hell to fix this.

Then I spot Mack.

Close to tears.

Looking fucking horrified.

And it hits me: it’s just fucking LEGO.

“Hey, it’s okay,” I say, reaching for him. It’s a total fucking lie since I feel like my gut has fallen out through my ass, but I’m not going to let Mack know that. “An accident. It was only an accident.”

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