Page 101 of When We Had Forever
“What, that you’re somehow in love with me? Even though we just met?”
“Jesus, don’t say it like that. Like it’s ridiculous. And it’s a little more complicated than—”
“No. It’s not. I mean, I get that you’ve looked at my picture on your phone a few times, but that doesn’t mean you understand me well enough to beableto be in love with me. I think you’re...getting confused.”
“You’re pissed,” he says.
“No. I’m freaked out. I mean, isthiswhy your girlfriends never last? Because whenever you get a new one into bed, you profess your love?”
“Damn it.” He retreats, pinching between his eyes. “I’m doing this all wrong.”
“Is there a right way to tell someone you’ve known for two days that you’re in love with them?”
“Yes,” he says. “It’s just not likethis. I even told myself to wait. To make sure you were okay, first. But you seemed better today, and then...I honestly didn’t think you’d still react to me this way.”
All the blood in my veins drains away. A horrible, weighted quiet descends. “What do you mean,still?”
“Oh, Christ.” He springs up and paces tight circles. Enough energy pours off him to make the room feel bathed in daylight. “Why the hell did I think this was a good idea? You’re going to hate me once I tell you. I can tell by your face you’re never going to talk to me again.”
My mouth tightens. I clamber to my feet, unwilling to grant him the upper hand by letting him tower over me, even though he still does. “Can youpleaseexplain what’s happening right now?”
He stops pacing. One hand dives into his hair, making the fringed ends stick up through his fingers. “I’m too much of a coward to say it. Just...look in my jacket.”
“What?”
“My jacket pocket. There’s something in there you need to see.”
I open my mouth. Close it again. And while I don’t consciously decide to move, my feet propel me toward our discarded clothes, where I slip a hand into his coat. Cold metal meets my palm.
I pull the thing out and stare.
“What the hell is this,” I say, only it’s not a question, because I know exactly what I’m holding. A twisted silver chain, complete with the very same puka shell I once plucked from the sand in Oahu.
“I’ve been carrying that around for four years,” he says. “I’ve tried to get rid of it. Even managed to throw it away a few times. But I always ended up diving through the trash afterward, so I eventually gave up trying.”
My eyes snap up. “Why would Michael have given this to you?”
“He didn’t.” He swallows. Hard. “You did.”
“What.”
“Yeah. You...sat in my lap and put that chain around my neck. I’ll never forget it.”
All the air in my lungs billows out. I have the sudden, blinding urge to throw the necklace into the fire, but instead, I tilt my palm and let it clatter to the floor. “What are you saying? Thatyouwent to Hawaii with me? Not Michael?”
“Yeah.” He stands before the darkened bay window in nothing but his boxers, and for all his athletic surety, he looks as lost as a person possibly could. “The thing is, I’ve...known you a long time, Mina. Not just two days.”
My jaw locks. “No. That’s impossible. What about your tattoos? Your scar?”
“None of them are very old.”
A keening cry slices up my throat. “You told me you got that scar riding a bike.”
“Idid.” His brows tent upward. “But you didn’t ask for details. If you had, I would’ve told you I meant a motorcycle. In Tibet. Three years ago. And that I wrecked the bike because I was drunk. And I was drunk because I was trying to stop thinking about you.”
My eyes prickle. Shit.Do not cry. Do not cry. “What? Why?”
“Why was I thinking about you?”
