Page 81 of Heal Me, Love Me

“Really?”

“Yeah.” He took the hoodie from my hand, folded it more neatly than I had, and set it in the bag himself. “You’ll need it.”

“Florida’s hot.”

“Airplanes are cold.” His fingers lingered on the sweatshirt for a moment before he pulled his hand back. “But honestly, I just want you to have something that smells like me.”

I stepped between his knees and touched his face, making him look at me. “It feels like you love me.”

His eyes held mine. “That’s good because I do.”

I bent and kissed him. His hands came to my hips, and for a minute I tried not to think about tomorrow.

Then Mom called from the kitchen. “Dinner’s ready.”

Keaton’s forehead rested against mine. “Saved by your mother.”

“I wasn’t trying to be saved.”

He kissed me once more. “That’s why we should go before I forget we’re in your parents’ house.”

Dinner that night was Mom’s pot roast, mashed potatoes, green beans, and rolls. Being at home for the past few weeks had meant a lot of her home cooking, and I was going to miss it.

Dad reached for the butter. “Don’t forget to leave me the motorcycle key so I can take it around the block. It shouldn’t sit for too long.”

“I’ll leave it on the hook in the garage.”

Keaton glanced at me. “You’re trusting him with the Ducati?”

“I trust him more than you.”

He scoffed. “Rude.”

“Can’t have you getting hurt while I’m clear across the country.”

“Yeah, I’d probably break my arm on that thing.” He chuckled.

For a while, eating gave us a way to avoid all the things nobody wanted to say. Dad talked about the Ducati, Mom kept passing food to Keaton, and Keaton took another roll without that old hesitation I remembered too well. He looked more comfortable at my parents’ table now than he had when we were younger, and somehow that made leaving feel worse.

Then Mom reached for my hand and gave it a quick, gentle squeeze. “Do you think you’ll be able to come home for Thanksgiving?”

“I don’t know yet,” I answered, because I honestly hadn’t thought that far ahead. “It depends on the training schedule once I get there.”

My father lifted his glass of wine. “Flights get more expensive if you wait too long.”

Keaton’s knee brushed mine under the table. “We’ll keep an eye on it.”

We.

Dad looked at Keaton. “That includes you, by the way.”

Keaton paused and arched a brow. “What does?”

“Thanksgiving.” My father shrugged, as if inviting my boyfriend didn’t mean something big. “Dinner here, whether Rowan makes it back or not.”

My mother gave Keaton a warm smile. “You’re always welcome here, sweetheart.”

“Thank you.”