Page 25 of On Fire

Within a minute the Charlie horse fades and Nic disappears into the bathroom to wash himself and grab a glass of water. He sets three pillows against the headboard and eases me into them. Then he slips on his underwear which are stretchy little black things that make my cotton briefs look like a deflated parachute. He sits on the edge of the bed and lifts the sheet to clean me but, it’s too embarrassing. I grab the washcloth, wipe myself, but when I move to pull off the condom, he reaches down and gently helps. Then he takes the whole mess into the bathroom, and I can hear water running as he rinses the washcloth.

This gives me time to think nothing but dark thoughts. By the time he returns, I’m already feeling betrayed by his impending exit and hold the glass of water in my lap like a shield.

“Are you going now?”

He could easily walk to The Inn from here. He sits on the edge of the bed, his skin brown in the yellow glow of the light.

Shaking his head, he digs my leg out from the sheets and starts massaging along the T-band at the top of the hip all the way down to my heel, then kneads hamstrings from underneath. He’s trying to make sure that Charlie horse doesn’t return.

“This is like trying to rub a tree trunk,” he says. Sweat is starting on his forehead again. That’s me. Always too much work for people.

“For the record,” I say taking a sip of water, “this isn’t how I thought we’d finish. I was hoping for something more romantic.”

“Oh, you mean like small talk in bed, cuddling?” He grins.

“That sounds ridiculous.”

“But that’s what you meant, right?”

There’s a beat, while I mull this over. “Yeah,” I say, my head waggling. I think I might be pouting.

“I don’t think we are finished,” he says.

What the hell does that mean?

I was never good at being a teenager and that’s exactly how I feel right now.

Nic shifts to a more serious tone and his voice deepens. “Do you want to talk?”

I shake my head. He sits on the edge of the bed, a slight frown creasing his lips. “Are you sure? Because this was mind blowing for me. I don’t just go around sleeping with people—” His index finger makes a rolling motion.

I feel like my chest is going to break open. He’s sitting there trying to explain something neither can explain. For sure, this was never going to happen because I wouldn’t let it. Lamplight tossed against his hair warms those auburn highlights again. He looks so young in this light, so perfect.

Rising, he takes the glass of water from me and sets it on the nightstand, giving it a quarter turn before his fingers leave the rim.

I start babbling. “I’m sorry if I hurt you or if I did it bad or—”

He cups a hand to my face. The last time a man did this, I pulled back and the guy yelled at me. Pulling back is a reflex. This time when it kicks in, he just leans in further and keeps his hand there. A thumb rubs my cheek.

“I haven’t had sex in years,” I blurt and then grab the glass of water again.

“It doesn’t matter.”

It doesn’t matter. Oh, but it does. So, does this mean it doesn’t matter because this was a one off? Or because, what? He likes me too much for my bad performance to matter?

The flip chart in my mind goes through every scenario that could and probably will happen. 1) This is just another one-night stand for him, and I will read into everything and make it all something it’s not. 2) It will be something, and I will be so happy my heart will swell up like a balloon and then he’ll have enough of me and leave. 3) Someone will find out, and I’ll lose everything, including him.

Heart shattered, unable to function, I would still have to work with him. Nic is totally professional, and I’m sure he would do it well. But I drink the fucking infatuation Kool-Aid every time and working side by side with a past lover is nearly impossible. I did it once decades ago and ended up moving to a different part of the state.

Here, to Echo Bay.

Glancing around the room, there’s a panic rising in my chest. I like my house. I like the fact I have to duck when I get in the shower and I heat with wood in winter. I don’t want to move.

“What is going on in that head?” Nic asks. “I can tell you’re spinning.”

I have to get my fucking big boy pants on.

I take a deep breath. “I’m fire chief. I like clear lines of communication. This could be something or not, and I want it to be something, but if it is, then how are we going to do this? And if it is not anything, then I need to know now because, well, because. But I will be fine. But I can’t be fine until I know.”