Page 53 of Where You Left Me

Actually, the opposite. The sound of that makes me excited. At this point, it should be obvious to him that I wouldn’t mind getting stuck with him anywhere. Sometimes I think being in a world where it’s just him and me sounds like the best thing ever. But that’s not our reality.

“Next time,” I assure him and climb onto the bike.

“Suit yourself, Peaches.”

This time, when he calls me the familiar nickname, it sounds so effortless. Like no time has passed at all and he’s simply been calling me Peaches for the last eight years. How did it come back to him so easily?

He shoots me a sexy grin over his shoulder before he pedals away. And my pulse picks up. Because of course it’s sexy. Jones Martin can’t do anything that’snotsexy.

Through the few miles on the paved path, I keep up with him. I’m a little unsteady, but at least I haven’t fallen yet. Whoever started that phrase,“It’s just like riding a bike”torefer to something easy, was an idiot. Or maybe they weren’t as uncoordinated as I am.

It’s ironic that my dad owns a sporting goods store when I’m not qualified to participate in even half of the sports out there. I’ve done some rock climbing but most of my time was spent indoors or at Grade I. My parents discovered at a young age skiing required too much coordination, but snowboarding was a little easier.

I prefer to keep both feet on the ground when it comes to my sports. So I took to hiking when I was in high school and have loved it ever since. But I think my dad would argue hiking isn’t technically a sport since it doesn’t require much equipment.

When I first moved to Connecticut, I found hiking was the only thing to clear my head. Those first few years were the most difficult. Leaving not only Jones and my friends, but my parents too was hard. Especially after going through the trauma of losing the baby. There were many days when the darkness nearly won. But I’d put my hiking boots on, grab my backpack and set off on a trail, and somehow live through another day.

“You doing okay back there?” Jones calls.

Without realizing it, I’ve trailed quite a bit behind him. “I’m fine,” I holler back.

“Let’s stop at the bridge.”

I don’t argue. I could use the break. But just the thought of stopping at the bridge gets my stomach twisting. It’s the place I told Jones I was pregnant.

Jones reaches the bridge first and climbs off his bike. I arrive a few moments behind him. My heart is already racing. He leans his bike against the railing and then helps me with mine. It’s sweet. It’s thoughtful. And I find myself wishing he wasn’t either.

Jones leans against the railing, resting his arms on the top. I come up next to him and gaze out at the slow movement of water below us. It’s quiet and peaceful.

For the first time all day, I allow myself to suck in a deep breath. It’s been years since I’ve been here. At one time, this was a favorite spot of mine. It’s not surprising I would choose this exact spot to tell Jones I was pregnant.

“You know what’s so great about this place?” Jones asks, wistfully.

“Hmm?” I ask.

“It’s reliable.”

My brows draw together, and I turn my face to look at him. He’s studying the view, his expression pensive. I take advantage of him being distracted to admire him. His jawline is more defined than it once was, and the veins in his neck are prominent. The muscles strain across his shoulders and his biceps bulge at the hem of his t-shirt sleeves.

My cheeks heat and a hum begins in my depths. I always thought Jones was attractive. But seeing him like this—the grown-up version of Jones—has me thinking he’s the hottest guy I’ve ever seen.

Spinning toward me, I feel caught in my gawking. But if he noticed, he doesn’t mention it.Thank God.

I quickly recall our conversation from a few seconds ago. “How is this place reliable?”

“The river is always here. It always flows in the same direction. The sound of the water as it rushes over the rocks is the same. There’s no surprises.” He hunches a shoulder. “I don’t know, it’s just comforting. When everything else seems to go to shit, this is unchanging.”

“I hadn’t thought of it like that before. But it makes sense.”

We sit in silence for what feels like a long time. It’s equally peaceful as it is unsettling. There’s so much we haven’t discussedsince I returned to Maple Ridge. Things from the time we spent apart, and things from our past. There’s so much to unpack but the more I think about it, the more overwhelming it feels.

Do we really have to make a trip down memory lane? Does it even matter? What will it accomplish if we do? It’s too painful to think about never mind talk about.

“Being here…with you…it’s got me thinking about the last time we were here together,” he says.

And there it is.

My heart stalls in my chest. “Jones,” I say his name on an exhale, and dip my chin.

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