Page 71 of Smoke and Fire
While I wallowed in the uncertainty of the future, he wallowed in the miasma of the unchanging present. With a bit of a jolt, I realized I’d chosen the better path.
The path of my new self.
Although not perfect, I preferred the uncertainty of what lay ahead of me to the unending sameness at home. There had been safety in that for awhile, and I’d probably have more of it in my future. For now, however, I looked forward to what lay ahead.
I schooled back a giddy laugh.
A lock of hair fell onto Jakob’s forehead, but he shoved it away.
“Are you trying to grow your hair out?” I asked with a tilt of my head toward him. Ever since we’d been together, he’d always worn it short. A hint of color dusted the top of his cheeks as he played with a lock.
“Yes.”
I laughed. “Lofa got to you after all! How did he finally convince you to grow it out?”
“I used to have long hair,” he said, half-defensively. “It’s time to try it again. Do something different.” He eyed me. “And what about you? Do you like having an RV and driving around?”
“Being lost?” I quipped.
“No.” He smiled. “Maybe now you’re found.”
My teasing expression faded. “Yeah,” I murmured, then dropped my gaze to fiddle with my cup of black coffee. “Maybe. I do enjoy the RV. I haven’t been many places, honestly. Visited some aunts and uncles and my grandparents.”
“Tour of your family?”
I grinned. “You know it. Now I’m here with Sione.”
“Looks like a great place.”
The answer hummed all the way to my bones. “It’s a wonderful place.”
“No ocean.”
I sighed. “No ocean. The mountains almostmake up for it. When they aren’t on fire, anyway. I still miss the surf.”
We fell into small talk, discussing the career paths I considered, his plans to see his grandparents in Tonga at Christmas, and updates on his family in California.
When the chatter dissolved, so did the conversation. Though I wracked my brain for something else to say, it didn’t come.
Hadn’t it always been that way, though? We never had much to say to each other. We enjoyed each other, but beyond our love of people and our culture, we didn’t have much else in common.
“I’m happy,” I finally said. He met my gaze. “I’m grateful, too. If you hadn’t broken things off, I wouldn’t have. We’d still be in something that didn’t really serve either of us. So thank you.”
An expression I couldn’t read flitted through his eyes. His shoulders lifted with a breath, swelling high on his neck, then dropped all at one. He swallowed and said, “I thought you hated me.”
I laughed. “At first, I think I did. Now? I see it.”
He closed his eyes. “Thank you. That’s . . . that’s what I needed to hear. I worried I’d made a mistake or . . . I don’t know.”
His eyes opened again, a rich velvet that I’d always consider a friend.
“Thank you, Dahlia. I miss you but I know we made the right decision. I just needed to be sure.”
He stood up, arms held out. Willingly, I stepped into a warm, familiar embrace. A rush of affection welled up inside me, but it was soft. Present, but not overpowering. Nothing like what I felt when I thought of Bastian.
I stepped out of Jakob’s embrace, but I held onto his arms. He smelled like home. “Flying or driving?” I asked.
“Flying,” he said. “Going to stop, see Sione, and fly out tonight.”
