Page 63 of Second Tide's the Charm
“Was that in doubt?” A rosy flush darkens her cheekbones, but she doesn’t dodge my gaze.
The open admiration makes me itch to pull away my collar from my neck, and I resume walking toward the car. “Well, I didn’t used to be so...” I search for a word that doesn’t sound like a humble-brag and come up short. “I look different.”
“I like different.” She gently bumps me with her shoulder. “You look good, Adrian. You’ve always looked good, nothing you could do to change that.”
“Not even a face tattoo? Because your parents might beg to differ.”
“Oh my gosh, you remember that?” She laughs.
“How could I forget the Face Tattoo Saga?” I remember everything about her family, everything about our time together. “Your cousin’s botched face tattoo was pretty much all your parents talked about when you brought me home that first time. Made me grateful I’ve got a mild fear of needles. How are they, by the way?”
The rhythm of Hope’s steps falters, and I look over to see her biting her lip.
Stopping, I readjust the books, feeling foolish. “Sorry, is family out of bounds? I’m still figuring this out.”
“I’m figuring it out too.” Hope lifts the top two books off the stack, lightening my load, and the herbal scent of her shampoo has me closing my eyes for the briefest second, steadying myself.
“Pretty sure acting like we don’t have a history isn’t working so well, all things considered.” Tucking the novels against her chest, she searches my face, though with a shyness I’m not used to seeing in her. “Are you open to trying something new?”
Against my better judgment, I ask, “What do you have in mind?”
Her copper eyes connect with mine. “Friendship.”
I honestly didn’t know what to expect, and I turn the concept over in my mind. “Why?”
Her nose wrinkles in thought and I tighten my grip on the book to dampen the urge to press a kiss to it. “Because I like you. I’ve always liked you, even when I tried to stop,” she says. “And I’m tired of trying.”
Her words echo my feelings. “So tired,” I agree.
She deflates, not like a sad balloon, but like when she used to melt into me on the couch after a long day. I could always tell when she let go of whatever problem she’d been working through and settled in. Her shoulders relax, and the small crease between her dark brows disappears.
“So what does friendship look like?” The plastic dust jackets of the books are sticking to my arms in the heat, but I’m in no hurry to get to my SUV.
“Openness. Honesty.” She purses her lips, like she’s making sure she covered everything. “Not skirting around the past three years or what came before them.”
“Like whether your parents hate me for not doing right by their only child?” I’ve thought a lot about her parents over the years, how awful it felt to begin to think of them as family, and then never hear from them again. Did Hope mourn the loss of my own mom and dad?
“Nah. You know they raised me to be independent, and our family has good boundaries. They wouldn’t try to fight my battles for me. Not that it was a battle,” she says. “The breakup, I mean.”
“Was it a breakup?” Another question that’s been simmering at the corners of my mind. “It felt more like... Losing sight of one another.” Like kayaking side by side and turning to find her on another branch of the river, carried away by the current.
“We both let go.” Hope slides her fingertip along the book’s pages, and I feel an answering stir on my skin. “Neither of us reached out. I guess you couldn’t call it a breakup. But it hurt like one. And I made the requisite breakup bad decisions.”
“Like what?”
She shoots me an odd look. “Staying out of shark research, for one.”
That comes as a surprise. “You stayed to help Zuri, and finish what you started at work.”
“I did, and I didn’t.” She sighs. “It’s complicated. But looking back, I think I was trying to prove I was right in hesitating to take the leap in the next stage of our relationship. To prove I needed the freedom to move at a moment’s notice.”
To prove she was better off not tied down to me. Three years of unasked questions begin to weigh on me, thick as the humid air, and I long to go back to the lightness of a moment ago. “Well, I’ve made a few post-breakup mistakes of my own.”
“We’ve already established the workout routine was a good decision. You’re not telling me you regret starting your channel?”
I shake my head. “No, and that came later, anyway.”
“Then what bad decisions, Mr. Honesty?” She puts her free hand up. “Wait, don’t tell me. There are some things I think better left in the dark.”
