Page 29 of Chasing After You
“Usually there aren’t horses eating and shitting in that same space.”
“You’re a real brat, you know that?”
I smirk. “You just don’t like it when I point out the obvious that wasn’t so obvious to youafterit’s finally obvious to you.”
“I’m pretty sure it’s universally unappreciated.” He chuckles. “I’ve always wondered, do you talk like this to other people?”
“I do,” I admit. “But you’re the only one who ever understands my wonky, repetitive but totally not, statements.”
In all the bantering back and forth, I never got around to answering his actual question. And now, “We’re here.”
We both slow to a stop.
“What am I looking at?” Matti squints trying to see better in the dark. The lighting has changed again since stepping into the trees. Even though the moon overhead is bright enough to see everything under the sky out in the open, the tree limbs cast too much shadow to see more than a few feet ahead.
“Fire pits.” I move for the one closest to us. Squatting down, I start to fumble at the bricks, trying to remember where the matches are kept. “We opted to have a tour of the entire property when we first arrived. With Anna’s anxiety, she likes to know where everything is, how everything works. Plus, it’s just nice to see all the activities available to us in person,” I ramble on, stillfeeling around for the little space between the bricks just big enough to hold a matchbook and a few sheets of kindling paper. “The website was super informative, but some things just aren’t translated as well in pictures.”
Automatically, his eyes seek out the moon. I think Matti’s been trying to capture a picture worthy of its splendor all of his life. “I get that,” he mumbles.
“A-ha!” My arm juts upward, triumphantly waving around my findings. “Fire time.”
“You really want to build a fire right now? In the middle of the night.” He looks around, as if worried we’ll get caught. Like we’re teenagers or something. “You don’t think we’ll get in trouble?”
“You mean like we did when we were fourteen?”
His eyes catch mine and his entire expression changes. He just got it.
“Our first date.”
“You and me, a bonfire –”
“And Mr. Jenkins spraying us with a hose thinking we were a wildfire,” he finishes for me.
“Admittedly, not how I expected that night to end,” I say laughing. “But we had some pretty pleasant moments leading up to the shower.”
He steps in closer, peering down at me with those soulful eyes of his. “That we did,” he rumbles softly.
“Let’s have them again,” I whisper.
“Why?” It’s a fair question. Even if I wish he hadn’t asked it.
“I told you.” I inch my way even closer to him. “I want to try something.” I swallow down the desire to just allow every thought and feeling to spill out. The intense urge to let him know how much I still think about him. About us. About how my mind lives at war with my heart trying to make sense of the feelings we still carry between us. How I wonder whether they simplyexist built on time and comfort, or if they are burning away like resting embers just waiting for new breath to reignite them.
But I don’t say any of those things, don’t voice any of my questions. Instead, I simply remind him of the only thing that matters in this moment, “And you already said yes.”
His eyes anchor into mine so deeply, for a second I think he already knows the things I’m trying to hide. Only when my throat is vibrating from the pounding of my heart, does he ease his stare and softly smile. “You’re right. I did.” His fingers move for my hand, taking the matches from my palm. “I do believe I’m the one who started the fire that night.” The words might be in reference to a literal fire, but his voice is loaded with implications.
“Funny.” I let my fingertips trail along his thumb, up his wrist, and along his arm. “That’s not quite how I remember it.”
He smirks, a sexy curve on his mouth promising every bit of the mischief we created over twenty years ago. “I guess there’s only one way to trigger our memories and find out.”
We both stay planted in place, a heat already building between us without even a match being lit.
Before I push up on my toes and recklessly press my lips to his, I step aside. “By all means. Do your thing.”
I move back a few feet more to give him space to work. Not that it takes much for Matti to get the fire going. He wasn’t ever the boy scout sort, but his mama is a hippie through and through and that woman had a fire going every time the moon changed shape. Doesn’t matter what the weather is or how unfavorable the wood’s condition is, Matti has known how to give life to fire since he was old enough to light a match and know better not to let the flame touch skin.
“That ought to do it,” he mumbles, the sound of fire embracing kindling crackling away. Nearly all of my life, thatsound has comforted me because it makes me think of him, makes me feel like he’s with me in some way.
