Page 19 of When We Were Young

“Two weeks, and we’ll see each other again,” I whisper, my arms circling her. My breath fogs in the air, and I look down at her.

How is it possible for her to be so beautiful?

I kiss her deeply, and I never want to let her go. She’s mine, and we belong together. I feel it more now than ever before.

“Two weeks,” she breathes into my ear, and her breath tickles.

I smile.

“Wait, I’ve got a card for you. Open it when you’re at home. Alone.” There’s a mysterious glint in her eye.

I smile. “Why, what have you written?”

“Not so much what I’ve written as drawn.” Her smile is infectious, and then I’m kissing her deeply in the way that makes my body respond.

“You kept all these?” Emma stares at me, and I move closer, trying to gauge her reaction. I think she’s happy, so I sit next to her.

Nicky is mewing plaintively, and I glance at him. He wants picking up again, I can tell, but I need to focus on Emma.

“Of course,” I say. There was never any question about me not keeping these things. “I didn’t want to forget you. Not ever—and I’ve never stopped thinking about you.” I pause, blinking slowly. “I’m so, so sorry, Emma. If I could go back and stop myself breaking up with you, I’d do it in a heartbeat. Because I love you. I always have, and I always will.”

The words burst from me before I even realize I’m going to say them. But they’re there, dancing between us, and I stare at her, and I want her.

I pull her to me, wrap her in my embrace. She is shaking, and I breathe hard against the side of her face. Emma, in my arms, again.

This is right. Her heartbeat, against mine.

My eyes smart. Tears. No. I can’t start crying. I can’t.

A minute or so later, she pulls away. Her eyes drink me up, and I just want to hold her, touch her, never stop touching her.

And then, of course, Nicky chooses this moment to pull himself onto Emma’s lap. She may be wearing jeans, but I know how sharp his little claws are, and I reach out to lift him up and against my body, so he can’t needle her thighs anymore.

“Can I stroke him?” she asks, and her eyes have lit up even more.

I nod, and she strokes Nicky for a few moments. Then Nicky’s squirming to go back to Sookie. I twist around, planting him next to Sookie and the other kittens.

I take a deep breath and look back at Emma.

I steady my breathing. “Can we start again? Can you forgive me?” The questions come out altogether, and I want to sound calm—but I don’t. I sound desperate. And I am. Desperate for her.

I need her.

She reaches for my hand, squeezes it, looks into my face.

I watch her lips, begging them to move. The right movement.

“Yes,” she whispers.

I pull her close to me, and my lips find hers. Emotions build inside me, and I’m kissing her, and my arms are around her, and she is mine again.

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THE END