Page 17 of He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not

‘I hardly recognize you,’ I say, staring up at him.

How on earth did he grow into this? Is that a bicep? And a tattoo? Wait, I glance at his forearms –twotattoos? A single stem rose on the outside of each.

When he notices me inspecting pretty much every inch of him, I glance away. He’s precisely the kind of man I’d do a double take at if he walked past me just to admire him from afar. He was nineteen and beyond awkward the last time I saw him. There’s not much of that kid left.

I breathe in deeply, smelling something pleasant. Is thathim? I sniff again. He’s wearing cologne? Not the usual I-forgot-my-deodorant smell he and River used to sport. His hair was longish and wavy and now it’s short and messy, the braces are off, and the scrawniness seems to have been dropped off at the gym –jeez, Hols, look away.

He’s no longer the skinny, dorky kid who used to help River terrorize everything I did. This guy is cool, tattooed, bearded, smells nice, looks nicer,andbrought me flowers. I’d say his dorky days are behind him. Well done, puberty. I applaud you.

‘How was your flight?’

‘My flight?’ I almost forgot I was just on a plane. ‘It was fine. Completely void of all the horrific things that go through your head as you board. Thankfully.’

‘Good.’ He nods. ‘You got any baggage?’

‘You have no idea,’ I say, nervous laughter escaping my lips.

He doesn’t get it immediately, but as my grin grows, he catches on. ‘Oh.’ He laughs. ‘I meantactualbags in the baggage area. Not piles of internal luggage you’ll unpack in my apartment later.’

‘I’ve got both kinds, thank you very much.’

Suddenly he looks uncomfortable. He attempts to hide his shy grin by glancing down at his shoes. That’s the Dax I know. He was always unsure of himself.

The two of us follow the overhead signs towards the baggage claim silently. We exchange glances here and there. I think I’m in shock that this is the kid who used to shove me into my parents’ pool, fully clothed, every chance he got. Then he’d giggle like a little girl while I tried to chase him down and return the favor.

‘We should probably grab a cart,’ I suggest, nodding at one a woman has just abandoned. He grabs it, tossing my bag onto it.

Every brand and color of suitcase that exists rolls by on the baggage carousel as we watch. I glance down at the flowers in my hand. Tristan’s words come back to me.Flowers die, Hols. You want me to have death delivered to you, so you feel loved?Yeah, what a charmer.

‘Thanks again for these,’ I say, lifting them to my nose. They look as though they should smell of cotton candy and saltwater taffy but nope, nothing. ‘I haven’t gotten flowers from a guy in years.’

He frowns. ‘That’s shameful. You should have.’

That makes me smile again. I honestly expected to be standing here dreading every moment of being home, but somehow, I’m not, and I’m pretty sure it’s because Dax is the one who picked me up. River would probably already have me in a headlock, attempting to make me miserable as brothers do.

I spot one of my bags out of the corner of my eye. ‘There’s one!’ I run over, pulling it down one-handed. It lands on its corner, falling over and nearly taking me out with it.

Dax is quick as he reaches around me, steadying me with one hand and grabbing the bag with the other. He stacks it on the cart, moving my carry-on bag on top of it, taking the flowers from me, and setting them on top.

Another of my bags rolls by. I pull it off the conveyor belt with both hands, but Dax again takes over, stacking it on the cart with the others.

‘I’m sorry to hear you and the professor called it quits.’

His voice is somehow soothing. Everything he says seems effortless. Cool. Controlled. Even a bit suave. I could listen to him read the phone book.

‘Hecalled it quits, and here I am. Really, it’s probably for the best. Things hadn’t been great for a while. I’m sure after I drown myself in sappy romance movies, sparkling wine, chocolate, and all the anxiety-ridden overthinking one can do, I’ll see it was never meant to be.’

Dax nods, obviously a tad uncomfortable with the topic of conversation. I get it. I’ve been uneasy since I left the restaurant last night.

My last bag rounds the bend of the carousel, so to save him from listening to my heartache, I point. It’s my biggest bag and closer to him. He grabs it one-handed, stacking it on the cart with the others. I could barely lift that one with two hands, and he just manhandled it like it was full of feathers.

‘Is that it?’

‘Everything else will be shipped to my parents next week. Right after they find out I’m here, I hope.’

‘So, you’re here forgood,’ he says, pushing the cart towards the exit.

‘Wasn’t what I’d planned, but it looks that way.’

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