Page 89 of Love is an Open Book
“Considering you tipped us at least three times last time we went canoeing at the cabin, I’d say it’s a good precaution.” His teasing pulls me out of my head, lightens the moment in the way only he can. He undoes the buckles, each click another piece of my armor breaking down. What will happen when there’s nothing left? I’m afraid love like this will tear us apart.
“What if we don’t work out?” I ask quietly, eyes on his hands working the snaps loose.
“What if we do?”
For a moment, I imagine it, the image deliriously sweet. Gavin and I bumping hips in the kitchen as we fight for who gets the first cup of coffee. Gavin next to me while I’m writing on the couch. Gavin, mine.
The tug on my heart nearly yanks the breath from my lungs. The last buckle falls away, and I lift my eyes to find him staring back with intensity that’s oxygen to my soul. I pull in a lungful of longing, but then another vision of the future clouds out my hope. What if we go for it and wind up pushing each other away? What if I never get to be this close to him again? What if he’s never mine again, not even a little?
“I need you too much to take the risk.”
“And what about me?” His gaze never leaves my face. “What if I want more, and can’t settle for less?”
“Don’t say that.” Tears are stinging, threatening to flow. “We’ve had that, you can.”
“I can’t, sweetheart.” The endearment feels like too much. Too soon. Too late. “Not anymore.”
“But...” Feeling strangled, I yank off the wretched life vest. “You promised.” There was never any going back. I knew that, and yet I let myself believe. “This isn’t us. We’re losing each other.”
“Only because you’re too scared to grab ahold of more.” He takes my hands. “I’m right here, asking you to give us a chance. Telling you I want you. But I’m done pretending, and right now, that’s all our friendship would be.”
“You’ll change your mind,” I say, gripping his hands tight. “You’ll see friendship is better. Safer.”
“I don’t want safe. I want you.”
“I want you, too, but not like this. Not tangled up with risk and ruin.”
“Ruin? We’re building something, Mia. Not tearing it down. Tell me you don’t feel the same.” He bends, pressing his forehead to mine.
Dropping his hands, I grip his shoulders, rising to kiss him. The warmth of his mouth against my chilled lips consumes my senses. I could get lost in his strength, his steadiness. The way his breaths turn shaky, like his walls are crumbling, too, and he’s letting them fall. Letting me in.
He knows exactly what I need in this moment, but what about tomorrow? Life is a long series of changes, but he’s been there all along, every moment, steadfast in the role of friend. I’m not ready to lose that version of us.
I pull away, hand to my lips, holding in the sensation even as my heart closes the door. “It’s not too late,” I say, begging him to agree. “We can go back to before.”
“Maybe you can.” He shakes his head, water droplets falling from his honey-brown hair. “But not me.”
“You’ll change your mind.”
“This isn’t my mind talking.” Frustration is in the firm set of his mouth. “For all your stacks of books on love, I don’t think you’ve ever once followed your heart.”
He turns his back on me and walks toward the river, taking a piece of me with him. Proving all this kind of love is good for is tearing people apart.
Twenty-Nine
Gavin
I forgot about the kittens. The moment I step through my front door, I’m swarmed by meowing balls of fur. Their mom is nowhere to be seen, probably sleeping and dreaming of carefree days before the tomcat knocked her up. I pick up the kitten closest to me, cuddling her against my chest. Pinpricks jab my shin, and I look down to see the tuxedo kitten using his tiny claws to climb up my leg.
“Chill, Juniper.” I pry him off gently, his squirmy body slippery in my grasp, and hoist him to my chest, then carry both kittens to the couch and collapse. Cedar runs in from whatever mayhem he was up to and soon all three kittens are crawling around me, taking tiny, tentative steps, whiskers brushing my cheeks.
It’s hard to be heartbroken while surrounded by this much cuteness, but then I catch sight of Mia’s scrunchie on the arm of the couch and the reality of what I told her hits me like the slam of a door.
I’ve lost her. Our relationship, our friendship. Gone. All because I asked for more than she could give. The one thing I told myself I’d never do. Look where it’s left me. Alone. Well, not counting the kittens who are currently ambling along the top of the couch like a tipsy trio of tightrope walkers.
Juniper pushes his dry nose against my chin, purring. “I bet you’re wondering where Mia is, huh?” I promised this wouldn’t happen but, in the end, I let her down. I’m no better than all the other boyfriends I’ve told her were no good for her.
Someone knocks, and for a second, I think maybe it’s her. But when I check the Ring cam after sliding my phone out from under a curled-up kitten, I come back to reality with a thud.
