Page 81 of When We Had Forever
“But you could be. In the right circumstances.”
“Really? And what circumstances would those be?”
“With me,” he says quietly. “At least, I think. Or not. That’s what I’m here to find out.”
“Withyou?” I try to absorb the enormity of that statement and fail. “You mean you came here to try and save me? Or is this about saving yourself?”
Something heated and steady burns in his gaze. “Both. I never said I wasn’t a selfish bastard.”
I shake my head, a wobbly denial. I have no idea what to say.
“The point is, Michael’s the one who died, not you.” When he glances down at his phone again, the unguarded tenderness in his face makes my lungs ache. “And even though you said on the phone you’re okay, I could tell you were lying.”
I fidget, but don’t confirm the obvious.
“So,” he continues, “you’re right. Me coming here is about more than just making sure you don’t get eaten by bears. It’s about the fact that I’d never forgive myself if I didn’t try to find the girl in this picture. If I let her fade away without even attempting to bring her back.”
“Okay.” My voice is rough. “Let’s say you have a point. What exactly do you want from me? Right now?”
“In this exact moment?”
“In this exact moment.”
His attention slides to my neck and downward, where my sweater cups the curve of my shoulder. “I don’t think you want me to answer that.”
A jolt shoots through me and settles low, pooling into something liquid and fiery.
Try as I might, I can’t deny that his interest does something to me. I knew it on the phone, and now that he’s here, it’s like a living thing, curling and crackling between us.
Shaken, I scoot backward. The distance helps squash my traitorous response. Not that it’s real, anyway. It’s just my stupid brain getting confused, because of who he looks like. Or doesn’t look like, as the case may be. “Aside from that. What do you want from me that I can actually give?”
“Just for you to spend time with me. We can go into the woods. Or not. Whatever you need.”
“Spend time with you? As what? A friend?”
“Anything you want.”
I weigh that. “How much time, exactly?”
“I’ve got a week. After that, I have to go out of the country, on assignment. I’ll be in New Zealand for a while.”
A bolt of longing joins the heat in my belly. I wonder if he has any idea what that statement means to me, that he managed to end up with the life I once dreamed of for myself.
He doesn’t seem to. He just awaits my answer with innocent eyes, as if it’s perfectly normal to drop into a grieving widow’s life and ask her to get to know her late husband’s estranged twin brother.
Then again, it’s not like I have much to lose. But a week is out of the question.
“Three days,” I say.
“What? No. I can’t work that fast. A week.”
“Three days. Take it or leave it.”
He thinks for a moment, then extends a hand. “Fine. Three days. During which time I’ll do my best to make you smile like that again.” He nods down at his phone. “And if I can’t, you can tell me to get lost.”
I hesitate. I’m afraid to touch him. Afraid of what it will mean, of what it might do to me. But when I tuck my palm into his grip, it turns out it’s just a handshake. “Deal.”
We break apart, him looking like he wants to say more, me wondering what I’ve just gotten myself into. The sensation of having walked this path before ties my gut in a knot.
