Page 43 of Rum Sips and Salty Lips

“Scout’s honor,” Orion says before winking at me and turning back to the grill.

The food is good, as it always is when Haley cooks. Orion helps her, and I watch for flirting. It’s not there. If he does stay in Wendell Beach longer than the winter, he’ll find someone else to date, since I told him it won’t be me. He’s too good of a man to be single for long. It’s a possibility I’ll prepare for, even if it might have broken me to watch it happen the day after he had his arms around me.

I should have let his hands continue their journey into my swimsuit bottom.

I should have pulled him into the cabin and helped him out of his wet shorts.

We could have watched the sunset from my bedroom.

But I can’t have a fling with my next-door neighbor. There’s no outcome that doesn’t end awkward or with heartbreak or with one of us giving up something that matters to our very souls. I see how much this house means to him. How proud he is to share it with our friends. I see the vision he has for it.

His gaze finds mine again, and I wonder if it’s obvious what I’m thinking.

After foodand drinks and a glorious sunset, everyone says their goodbyes.

“You don’t have to help me clean up,” he says. It’s the two of us in his backyard, lit magically with string lights that almost look like stars overhead.

“It’s no problem. You’ve been up all day.”

“So have you,” he replies.

“Look, I know you want to say something about me being a people pleaser and helping you clean up because it’s the ‘right thing to do.’ Seriously, you’re being stubborn. And not letting me help to prove a point about me is just as dumb.”

“So, you don’t want to fight about who does the dishes?”

“No, I want the dishes to get done. We can fight about how you load the dishwasher or something.”

“I’ll definitely have issues with your rinsing technique.”

“Wonderful.” I usher him into his house, and I’m once again hit by the sense this is a home. Orion has left his mark on this space. My place doesn’t feel like me as much as this feels like Orion.

The tiny orange tree has a prominent place on his kitchen counter. I smile.

The kitchen is large so it’s easy for us to move around each other. I don’t have any reason to casually bump into him as much as I do. He doesn’t need me to touch his triceps as I reach past him for a lid.

He also doesn’t react.

I can’t help myself. I don’t remember the last time someone else touched me. My friends don’t give me hugs, and I don’t offer them.

I’m processing this realization when he pulls his phone out of his pocket. “Shit, I should take this.” He moves down the hallway to answer the call.

I don’t think anything of it so I go outside to grab the remaining condiments. When I’m back inside, he’s in the kitchen again.

“No, the house is unpacked. Just had some friends over.” Pause. “Yeah, of course. If you’re ever in the area… Bye.” He has a concerned look on his face when he turns around and sees me.

“Everything okay?” I ask.

“Yes.” He leans back against the counter and crosses his arms. He’s still for a few breaths. “That was an ex.”

“Oh.” My stomach twists. We haven’t talked much about past relationships, other than when he mentioned he’d been tested after his last girlfriend. I have no idea when that was. It could have been the week before we hooked up. And he knows about Hamilton. But I have no right to ask about anyone he’s been with. I’ve made a lot of assumptions about what he’s done in the past. Most of it is probably unfair.

He raises an eyebrow as he waits for further comment.

“I didn’t know you were the committing type,” I reply. I’d imagined he’d meet someone, but I don’t know what that looks like for him. Does he do relationships?

He runs a hand through his hair. “It’s complicated.”

His brown eyes hold mine. I wish I could trap all their color at once. If I found a dye that was all that sunshine and warmth, I’d sell out of every pair of leggings.

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