Page 69 of The Other Side

Out of my periphery, her damn hands are at it again. They wrestle with each other in front of her belly, and I don’t hesitate this time.

“Stop it,” I order, my palm tugging her right hand away from her left.

“I’m sorry. I can’t help it.”

Our palms dangle between us, our grips loose but magnetic.

We carefully poke our heads around, observing the sporadic bystanders for permission. The pads of our fingers tickle each other, the gesture a torturous dance through the electric sparks.

Punitive.

Like a hacksaw slicing through my chest, and our hands completely sever. Just like that.

“Well, try,” I tell her.

I lead us onto the grass to a wooden bench parked under a pink weeping willow. When we sit down, her palms rest on her bare thighs. Her chin angles toward the drooping branches above when she says, “I’d love to plant a weeping willow on my property someday. It would have to be small though. They’re not the safest, you know.”

“That’s kind of obvious,” I reply.

Her mouth curls into a playful snarl, and I’m left smirking. Watching her hair dance with the wind.

I swear I fucking feel her spirit.

The spirit of the girl who clawed her way out of the darkest tunnel.

My eyes dip to her blush-tipped fingers, but all I see is the dirt and mud packed behind the nails. There are people who’ll meet her now and chalk her up to a pretty face, but she’s a force to be reckoned with.

It’s the reason she’ll never take a bad photo.

That’s what I should’ve told her earlier.

“What else do you dream about for your home?” I ask.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she sighs happily. Callie’s stare bobs around the clusters of pink along the branches. “I want space. Space for me to run with my kids in the backyard. Space for there to be a swing set for them. Maybe even a pool,” she explains. “A big playroom when they’re young, and maybe a library when they’re older. Somethin’ like that.”

I gulp thickly, prolonging my response for a moment. “That seems more than reasonable.”

“I’d also want a gable end roof and a wrap-around porch. One of those picturesque homes you’d see in a Nicholas Sparks film or something. But instead of the blue shutters, I’d want seafoam green.” Her head rotates to me. “The Notebook.”

My lip quirks up. “Yeah, I got that.”

She lolls her eyes, bobbing her head in defeat as she faces forward again. “That’s the one thing I never had. Space.” Her palms curl around the edge of the wooden seat. “Out of everything I missed out on during my childhood, I think that’s the piece I wish I could use a rain check on.”

“Why?”

“Memories were limited. Confined to a few places.” Her eyes fall into a trance as they glaze with impending tears. “But the memories I can cherish were nothing short of incredible.” Then her attention drags to me, her chin propping on her denim-clad shoulder. “All because of you.”

Before I allow my mind to reel me back, I’m nestling her cheek in my palm. Her eyes flutter closed when my lips meet her temple, the sweet scent of her shampoo instantly leaking into my blood. “I’m an architect, you know,” I whisper. “I can draw up space for you. As much as you want.”

Her shoulders lightly bounce through a chuckle, but a whirring sound thrashes through the branches as she does. Our chins tip up, and the tiny bird flaps its metallic feathers through the pink drapery.

Then it’s gone.

Our gazes reconnect, my eyes instantly roaming over her beauty. Swallowing thickly, I collect the courage to filter the first thought that comes to mind.

“I saw a hummingbird back in Rhode Island,” I finally say. “I was sleeping on my apartment balcony and woke up to the sound of it. The day after, I applied for a job at Nexis Architecture.”

Her throat cocks, her stare scurrying over my features as she wraps her brain around my admission. “They’re a sign of good luck, right?” she breathes.