Page 184 of Fifty First Times (Sharing You 0.40)
I’ve missed him, so much that it’s been like a sickness inside of me for years. I didn’t pine for him—I didn’t have time, not with three kids and a sick grandmother to take care of. But he’s been there all along, in the back of my mind. Every time I closed my eyes, every time I had a few moments of down time, I would think of him. And imagine what my life would be like if I could have left Taos with him.
I’ve watched him snowboard for years, have seen him get better and better even as I watched him grow from the boy I loved into the man who is sitting beside me now. Oh, he’s only twenty and a snowboarder, so most people think he’s got the maturity level of a five-year-old. But Gage is an old soul. He always has been. When I look into this eyes I can see everything he’s been through, everything he is, and I know that he is perfect.
Or at least, perfect for me.
My people believe in the splitting of a soul, just like they believe in the mending of that soul when its two parts find each other again. I met Gage when I was fifteen and he was seventeen, and from the moment he smiled at me, I knew that he was the piece of myself I had barely realized was missing. When we touched, I could see the past and the future, and though I knew it wouldn’t end happily, I couldn’t turn him away.
Not then, and not now.
And still I’m shaking. Still I can’t believe that this is really it.
Gage pulls the car up to the valet parking stand at the resort where he’s staying—the same resort where I work, as fate would have it—then comes around and helps me from the car.
“Are you hungry?” he asks as we
walk into the lobby that I have scrubbed more times than I can count.
“No.” I haven’t eaten since breakfast—I’ve been too busy waiting for the phone to ring. Waiting for Gage to call. When he didn’t, I thought about climbing into bed and crying for the rest of the night. I’m glad I didn’t. I’m glad I took a chance and went to find him, am even more glad that he hasn’t forgotten me.
I think that’s what I was most afraid of. That I would walk up to him and he wouldn’t know who I was. We were together for such a short time and it was so long ago. There’ve probably been dozens of girls since then, maybe hundreds. I live in one of the biggest snow resort towns in the country. I know exactly how these things go.
But none of that matters now. Because he did remember me and I am here with him right now.
I close my eyes when we step on the elevator, send up a prayer that this moment is real. That he is real.
And then we’re getting off on the sixth floor and Gage is guiding me down the hallway, his hand in the center of my back. I’m wearing four layers of clothing and I can still feel his touch like a brand. That’s how attuned I am to him.
We stop in front of room 671 and I nearly laugh. I took today off, but I cleaned this room yesterday. I made his bed, took out his towels, emptied his trash. All the time I’d wondered at the familiar scent of the place, at how it had reminded me of Gage. But I’d never imagined, when I was smoothing the sheets back into place—when I was plumping the pillows—that I was doing it for him.
He slides his key card through the lock, pushes the door open. And then we’re inside.
I want him to take me in his arms.
I want him to lower me to the bed and take my clothes off.
I want him to kiss and touch every part of me and let me do the same to him.
And then I want him to slip inside me so that I can hold him, hold every part of him, even if it’s for a night. Even if it’s for an hour. I don’t care. I want to love him more than I want my next breath.
“Do you want something to drink?” he asks, indicating the mini bar under the TV.
I bite my lip to keep from telling him how overpriced everything is—and from begging him to kiss me. But he seems almost as nervous as I am. He’s awkward and clumsy, tripping over the luggage stand, when Gage is never awkward. Never clumsy. His perfect balance is what makes him such an amazing snowboarder.
“No, thanks.”
He nods solemnly, then strips off his jacket and tosses it across the chair. I do the same.
And then, since it seems like he’s just going to stand there looking at me worriedly, I kick off my boots and jump straight into the center of the bed.
“Come on,” I tell him. “I don’t want to wait any longer.”
He grins at me—thank God, there’s the Gage I know—as he kicks off his own boots. But instead of joining me on the bed, he pulls me up and walks me over to the sliding glass door and the balcony that overlooks all of Taos.
He stands behind me, props his chin on my shoulder, and when he speaks, it tickles my ear. “Three years ago, I never could have imagined standing here with you. I never would have dreamed it was possible.”
“I did. I always knew you’d be a famous snowboarder someday.”
He laughs. “Not famous yet.”
