Page 76 of Exes Don't

Poe waves his hand in front of his face to redirect some of the smell. “Easy, killer. You don’t want to singe her nose hairs.”

The guys chuckle. I scowl at them. “Excuse me for being a little nervous. I want everything to be perfect. This is our second chance.”

“Did she tell you what happened back in Mobile?” Del asks.

“Not yet. But I plan to talk it all out with her.”

TJ slaps me on the back on his way to his locker before spinning around and dropping his towel, giving us all a full-frontal view of his birthday suit. “Open communication is the way to go, that’s what I always say.”

“A little less open communication from you would be appreciated.” I cover my eyes with my hand. “And I agree. I’m going to talk to Rose about our past. But not today.”

“Why not?” Del asks, worry pulling the skin of his forehead into three lines.

“Because today, I’m meeting her in Cashmere Cove so she can show me around her new hometown. It’s a night to reconnect and get to know each other. There’ll be time for honest conversations about the past and the future. Today, I want to live in the present.”

“Too bad your present smells like an overeager pine forest.” Poe plugs his nose.

I shove him into the nearest locker and swing my duffel over my shoulder. I exit the locker room to the heckles of the guys, but I can’t stop grinning.

I’ve got a girl to see about.

I make the scenic drive to Cashmere Cove. Last night’s blizzard left the tree limbs that form the canopy over the winding peninsula roads coated with snow, like salt on the rim of a spicy margarita glass.

Rose texted me the address to a Mexican restaurant where I’m meeting her for dinner, so the analogy feels applicable, if not particularly seasonal.

Then again, do margaritas ever go out of season? I think not.

I follow my GPS to the address, which, as it turns out, isn’t far from Mood Reader. I ease my way down Main Street, slick with ice and slush beneath the weighty wheels of my truck. Cashmere Cove glows in the evening twilight. The town is small, and yet I don’t feel closed in here. It feels more like a resting spot. A place to come home and recover before going back out into the world and doing the work.

It’s contrary to how I feel about Penwick, which has always felt more like a jail cell.

I mentally brush off all thoughts about my home country, the responsibilities awaiting me there, and my feelings about it all. I want my sole focus to be on Rose.

I snag a parking spot on the street outside Lupe’s. The restaurant is set in a long narrow building, and when I walk through the front door, the smell of homemade tortilla chips tickles my nose. It’s heavenly. I glance around the dimly lit space and spot Rose immediately. She’s tucked into a small table for two in the corner, her nose pressed into a book.

I take a minute to study her here. Her short hair is draped over one eye, and she shoves her hand up to keep it out of her face, resting her elbow on the table in the process. Her posture is terrible as she hunches forward, so engrossed in the story it’s like she can’t be bothered to consider her spine’s alignment. She nibbles her lip as her eyes scan the words on the page.

I could watch her like this all night. That’s always been how I am with Rose. She could be doing the most mundane thing in the world—washing the dishes, flossing, talking about the weather—and I’d be content to be in her presence.

Her head snaps up when the hostess greets me, and she presses the book closed, a tentative smile seeping over her face. She’s wearing red lipstick, which is a change. I like it. A lot. I want to ruin it with another mind-bending kiss like the one we shared at the bookstore, which I haven’t been able to stop replaying in my mind. But there’ll be time for that.

Time.

What a happy thought. All I’ve ever wanted is more time with Rose, and now I’ve got it. I feel like a kid on Christmas morning.

I tell the hostess I’m all set and hurry across the restaurant. Rose stands from her table, and I wrap my arms around her, drawing her as close to me as possible and holding her to my chest.

She lets loose a surprised laugh and then a content hum. She places her arms around my midsection, and we stand there, embracing each other. It’s the best hug of my life.

I didn’t get a lot of hugs from my mother—the queen of air kisses—and I never really thought much about what I was missing, but there’s something tender and sweet about the simple gesture of holding and being held. Like two people are both in it just because they want to be close—no ulterior motives, no presumptions, no strings, no expectations.

Rose leans away slightly and smiles up at me. “What was that for?”

Her skin shimmers in the lights of the restaurant, and I drag my thumb across the angle of her jaw. “Honestly, I don’t know,” I admit. “I hope it’s okay.”

She nods quickly. “I’ll never say no to a hug from you. You’re a good hugger.”

I’m inordinately proud to hear her say that. “Good hugger.” I beam down at her as I pull out her chair for her. “Put it on my tombstone.”

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