Page 119 of Read Me (Forget the Past 2)

“Happy Valentine’s Day from the dog.” Cole snorts, but I keep a straight face as I open the card to dictate the inside. “I know I can sometimes make life rough—to clarify, rough is spelled R-U-F-F—but know that despite dirty paw prints I leave on the floor, and those shoes of yours I chewed”—Cole has a fist pressed against his mouth in a vain attempt to stifle his laughter—“and all the drool I left on your pillow, I love you more than anyone else in the world.”

I keep a goofy smile on my face, trying not to think about how the last bit of that sentence wasn’t hard to say.

Not very hard at all.

“You do drool on my pillow sometimes.”

“See? It was perfect.” And now I feel better. The day has been acknowledged, but not with over the top gestures that feel disingenuous or put a strain on our new not-really-relationship.

I return the card to the shelf and make my way down the aisle, turning my thoughts back to the mental list I made of items to buy.

“What about mine?”

My legs lock up at Cole’s question, and I slowly rotate to see he hasn’t moved to follow me.

“Yours?”

His chin dips. “My card to you.”

Then, stealing my breath with the joy of the playful moment, Cole walks to the middle of the aisle and shuts his eyes.

I can’t move, barely breathing, both happy and scared, and wanting to hold him close until we become a set of people unable to be parted no matter how much time passes or space is placed between us.

As I reel, Cole’s one lid cracks open in the wink version of a smirk, arctic blue eye peering down the length of linoleum tile at me. “You’re supposed to spin me now.”

“Oh. Yes. Of course.” I hurry up to him, too eager and I know it. Then my hands are on his waist, directing his body to rotate. He doesn’t resist but turns with my encouragement. Eventually, I realize I’ve been spinning him for too long because I didn’t want to give up the sensation of his soft sweater covering his warm, hard body.

When I let my hands drop, Cole slows almost immediately, reaching out his long arm. The smooth bastard doesn’t even look a little bit dizzy as his fingers settle on a gold and red creation.

Never expecting him to repeat my silly game, I have no time to wonder what type of card I’d want Cole to pull.

Just one line in, I know this is the wrong one.

I know because I want the words too much.

“To my friend, my lover, my partner, my forever.” His voice comes low and sharp as he delivers the sentiment without hesitation.

I stumble forward snatching at the card. “You don’t have to read that!”

But he’s taller than me, and faster apparently, holding it out of my reach.

“I want to,” Cole says.

His determined tone quiets my frantic movements. Watching me as if checking for more snatching attempts, Cole’s eventually satisfied and tilts the card so he can continue reading.

“Our lives have taken twisted paths, some leading into darkness, and others leading into light. There were many forks, other routes you could have walked. Every day, but today most of all, I am thankful you chose the way that crossed with mine. Now I know I will never have to travel alone again. You are my forever, my partner, my lover, my friend.”

Silence falls between us. As Cole carefully refolds the card and replaces it on the shelf, I struggle to maintain my composure.

Why did that hurt so much?

How can his smoky voice say those beautiful words as if they’re the truth?

Why does my heart want them to be?

Light pressure on my lips has my eyes refocusing, but before I realize Cole is kissing me, his mouth is gone from mine, instead brushing against my ear.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Summer.”

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