Page 28 of From This Moment (After We Fall 4)
“Small town. We like to know everyone’s business.” I smiled. “Hey, what about CB? I saw your initials carved with hers on the door of the shed. Maybe she’s still around.”
He groaned. “Is that still there? Jesus. That had to be twenty years ago.”
Hugging my knees, I leaned forward. “First love?”
“Not even.” He hesitated, as if he were trying to decide whether to confess something.
“Come on,” I cajoled, carefully reaching out of the canoe, and splashing water toward him. “Tell me. I’ve been spilling my guts for an hour.”
“First kiss.”
I squealed. “And?”
He cringed. “It’s too embarrassing.”
“Wes, I had a completely humiliating breakdown in front of you last night. I got snot on my arm.”
“This is worse.”
“Get it out. You’ll feel better.”
“Let’s just say it was a very awkward, very fast experience.”
I gasped. “You lost your virginity to her?”
“No. Just my dignity.”
Laughing, I tilted my head back and felt the sun on my face, the wind in my hair, and something like joy in my heart.
It had been a long time.
Six
WES
It was exactly the kind of day I’d wanted—for Abby, for Hannah, for my parents, for myself. We took Abby out in the canoe, we built a sand castle complete with a moat and keep, we walked along the beach looking for fossils and sea glass. We talked. We laughed. We remembered Drew with funny stories and favorite memories. It was the first time since he’d died that we had all been together without being overwhelmed by sadness.
After dinner, I helped Abby find a stick to roast marshmallows. My mother tried to talk us into using metal skewers she’d brought down to the beach, but I insisted we had to do it the real way. We stood side by side holding our sticks with the marshmallows over the flames, watching them get warm and brown and bubbly. I like mine nearly charred, but I left my first one over the fire too long and it plopped into the ashes, which made Abby giggle uncontrollably.
And Hannah—I hoped she felt as happy as she looked. She had a smile on her face all afternoon, and I saw no trace of the tension I’d sensed in her this morning. In complete contrast, she seemed relaxed and contented, joking with my father, tolerating my mother’s criticisms-disguised-as-compliments (“My goodness, look how thin you are in that swimsuit! I can’t hardly see your shadow!”), and giving me a grateful look when I went back for seconds of her potato salad and told my dad he had to try it. (He did, and enjoyed it, much to my mother’s chagrin.) She’d even stopped playing with her wedding ring. Everything about the day was perfect.
There was only one problem.
My heart beat faster every time I looked at her. My stomach tightened every time she came near me. My breath hitched every time I caught the scent of her skin—a potent mix of Coppertone and waffles. I was nearly drunk on it by day’s end.
I wasn’t imagining my body’s responses to her, and by the time the sun went down I was finally forced to admit it had nothing to do with how much we both loved or missed Drew, and everything to do with the fact that I was attracted to her, plain and simple. I always had been.
Other truths I’d buried threatened to surface.
She’s part of the reason I stayed away.
I measure every woman I meet against her, and no one ever comes close.
What if? What if? What if?
I tried hard to ignore my feelings. Deny them. Convince myself there was nothing wrong with appreciating a beautiful woman.
Yeah, but you don’t just want to appreciate her, do you? asked my conscience, which seemed to have a direct line of communication with my dick. You want to—
