Page 27 of Where You Left Me

I’m not proud of myself. Okay, maybe I’m a little proud of myself. I could’ve been all soft andJones-likeand pussy-whipped over Mia, but I’m not.

Though she does have me captivated by the dick texts. Even if she’s not referring to my favorite appendage, it’s still arousing.

Despite her argument of not being available, Mia beats me to the gazebo. She’s left her natural hair of curls alone and they flow down her back almost to her butt. It feels fucking heartless. She has to remember that I loved her hair this way. I loved her hair any way, but like this—carefree and relaxed—was everything.

“I expected you to be late,” I say with a grunt as I amble up the gazebo steps.

“I’m never late,” she declares.

Yeah, I know this about her too. Mia has always been prompt. She lives for that shit. Me? I’m typically a 5-10 minutes late kind of person. Don’t want to seem too eager.

I guess part of me didn’t expect her to show at all. Part of me expects she’s going to disappear and I won’t see her again. That’s what leaving does to someone.

“This shouldn’t take long.” I lean against the wood railing and sit on the ledge of the gazebo.

Mia is seated at the picnic table in the center. But I don’t want to get that close. I’m too afraid I’ll be tempted to gather her in my arms and kiss her again like I’ve been hard up without her. It doesn’t matter if that’s the truth, I don’t need her to know it.

“And yet it was so important that you needed to meet with me right away?” she asks, eyes full of questions beyond the one she’s asking out loud.

Sparkling green eyes that hold everything from our past. And if I stare into them long enough, I’m scared I’ll never find my way back to the present.

I give her a nonchalant shrug. “We’re behind in our planning. Plus, I’m busy the rest of the day.”

She has her phone out. “Okay, well, if you’re open to it, I’ve got some ideas.”

“What kind of ideas?” I’m not thrilled about this. Part of me wants to shut her down now. But the other part of me, the part that’s obviously still so in love with her, wants to give in to whatever she asks.

“For vendors. I know you said you have them all set from last year, but I might have one or two you haven’t thought of.”

“Doubtful,” I mumble.

“Let me see your list.”

“Let me see yours,” I challenge back.

“How about I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” she says in a singsong, smirking.

Such a brat.

This banter instigates a spark of excitement to travel south. My dick has a mind of his own. He doesn’t care that this woman isn’t for him anymore. That she hurt us and left us. And she’ll do it again in a fucking heartbeat.

I hold out my hand. “Let me see.”

She purses her lips, hesitating for a moment but we both know she’s going to give in. Handing me her phone, she says, “After talking with Cammie and Rosie, I actually thought that last one was a great idea.”

Groaning, I mutter, “I’m gonna stop you right there. When it comes to Bikes and Beers, a good idea from those two is debatable.”

But I swallow back my words after reading the first one grief hits me like a punch to my chest. My vision doesn’t even travel to the next idea because it’s transfixed. It’s an idea to use the gazebo as a memorial for anyone who has ever participated in Bikes and Beers and has passed away. A participant in this year’s event can make a donation and wear a photo pinned to their number and ride in honor of them.

Below is a list of names.

“Maybe it’s dumb. Or insensitive. I don’t know. Maybe you’re right…maybe you’ve thought of everything already, maybe?—”

“Mia,” I interrupt her but have to clear my throat. “It’s a good idea.”

Her green eyes soften and blush fills her cheeks. “You sure it’s not insensitive?”

I shake my head and damn it I can’t stop my eyes from watering. But it’s impossible. Not when my gaze continues to read my mom’s name over and over again.

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