Page 23 of At First Smile
“Youarethe son of an English professor.”
He lets out a tiny chuckle.
“She died in November.”
“How?”
“Breast cancer.” My words wobble just a bit, but I carry on, “She’s why I was back in Buffalo. The high school she and my dad attended renamed their library after her and honored her at their graduation ceremony. I was there representing our family. My grandparents retired and moved to Greece ten years ago, so it’s a lot for them to travel internationally. I also think it’s hard for them to go back to someplace where they once celebrated all the promise of the future for their children, both of whom are now dead.”
His arms fold around me, tucking me against his firm chest. “What’s your favorite memory of her?”
I settle into his steady embrace, allowing his borrowed question to wash over me. “There are so many.”
“Our flight isn’t until tomorrow, so we have nothing but time.”
Tipping my head back, I take in his coaxing smile. So much about Rowan leaves me topsy-turvy. I just met him, but I trust him. He’s guarded, but still looks at me with an openness. My body ignites for him, but my heart settles in his presence. He’s strong, but there’s a vulnerability in the gruffness of his voice.
I turn my gaze forward. “Saturday mornings. We always went out for breakfast. Even when I was in college and lived at the dorms, she’d come get me to take me to breakfast at Bread, our favorite spot in downtown Seal Beach. We’ve been going there since we moved to California for her to write forThe Unseeing Private Eye.”
Rowan’s chin rests atop my head.
“I still go to Bread every Saturday morning. I sit at our same table tucked in the back corner of the café’s small courtyard. I still order the same thing, including the giant baklava croissant we used to share. I can never finish it”—my voice cracks— “but I never take it home.”
That cardboard to-go box would only mock the knowledge that she’s gone. If she wasn’t, it wouldn’t sit on the kitchen island like a viper ready to strike, its fangs plunging in and dripping the poisonous truth that she’s gone and never coming back.
“Do you feel her… when you’re there?”
I swallow thickly. “I don’t feel her anywhere. I worry that she’s all the way gone. She left her house to me. I live there and still I don’t feel her. The memories are there, but she’s not.”
Tears burn in my eyes. I raise my hand and dash them away, hoping they’re not noticeable. Openness isn’t a problem for me with most things. Well, with unimportant things as JoJo would point out. I can talk endlessly about my advocacy work, friends, favorite books, and career. Being vulnerable, though, chafes at exposing myself. The moisture coating my fingertips tells me I’m not as strong as I think. That I need. That what…who I need is gone.
His arms fold tight around me, and he whispers, “I bought my childhood house because I thought it would bring my dad back. Like he’s somehow still there, but when I go back there’s only the memory of him… not him. It took me a while to realize that he’s gone, but not all the way gone because I still have those memories.” He takes my wrist, raising my hand to my heart. “As long as you keep her here, she’s not gone. Even if you don’t feel her, those memories keep her alive. It’s only when we’ve forgotten that they’re truly gone.”
I twist in his arms, facing him. His woodsy scent comforts me. As if justhimsoothes the torrent of sadness inside me.
“Thank you.” I place his hand on my heart. “I’ll not forget that.”
The air between us is charged. My nerves sizzle as if a storm is about to break.
“Pen—”
“You two shouldn’t be up there like that! It’s not safe. You could fall!” A brusque masculine voice breaks the moment, drawing our attention to a tall older man at the river’s edge.
As if to reiterate the meddling man’s point, I take a step back. The back of my legs hit the stone wall. Rowan pulls me back to him with such intensity that I slam into his chest. The momentum causes him to pitch backward, taking me with him. His strong arms band around me, holding me tight as we fall to the bridge’s wood plank floor.
“Christ!” he grunts, hitting the ground.
My body drapes over him like a rally monkey at a baseball game. Rowan cups the back of my head, while my face burrows into his chest. His other hand rests at the small of my back. The thud of his heart roars in my ears. My legs are splayed on either side of his massive frame.
“So sorry! Are you okay?” I cringe, tipping my face to him.
“Yeah,” he groans.
“I’m so sorry. That was stupid of me, I shouldn’t have…”
“Pen, none of that… All that matters is that you’re okay.” Rowan’s words are steady with assurance and concern. The hand cupping my head moves to my cheek and brushes away tendrils that had escaped from my long braids. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. I’m not the one that cushionedmyfall.”
