Page 102 of Down Shift (Driven 8)
Repair List
Replace Front Step—third one
Replace Missing Roof Shingles—Wet is only good in one place
Back Deck = Death Trap
Fix Lock on Patio Door—Sorry, Mr. Ax Murderer
Fix Bathroom Mirror
Clean Out & Fix Rain Gutter Spouts
Repair Shutters
Add Handrail to Front Steps & Paint
Connect Internet for God’s Sake
Boat Shit I Don’t Understand
Bulldoze House and Rebuild
Electrician—Call one
Plumber—Creaky pipes
Have sex with Kiss the Repair Guy
The sun is shining and the ferry’s horn sounds off a warning that a new wave of tourists is heading ashore, but as we walk through town, my mind’s focused on the man beside me, holding my hand.
And on the dwindling repair list on the counter I’ve set to memory. Each item that gets crossed off means one fewer day with him.
I have to try not to be sad; this was how our story was scripted to play out. I’ve come to terms with it more in the last few days after seeing a more lighthearted Zander. I knew him only with the weight of the unknown resting on his shoulders. And now that it’s been lifted, he’s still the same guy he was before, but there’s a significant change. He’s more carefree. His smile is broader. He’s not so moody.
That alone, watching the man I love live a happier life, will make saying good-bye to him a bit easier. Knowing I helped him get what he came here for and he in turn helped me overcome my past when it caught up with me.
Who the hell am I kidding? I’m going to bawl like a freaking baby, eat tons of ice cream, and paint dark stormy seas and skies again when he’s gone . . . but at least it was by my own choice. I chose to walk into this relationship with Zander when I knew the end before it began. Such a weird, liberating thing to have for myself after being controlled for so many years.
Carpe diem, Getty.
The thought really strikes me for some reason. Like if I really mean the saying, then I’d better do something about it. And so without preamble I tug on Zander’s hand. He stops to look at me, but I only catch a millisecond of the confusion on his face before I slant my lips over his.
I love the sudden movement of his body, the hitch in his breath. Even better, I love how, within a second, his hand slides against my lower back and pulls me into him so he can deepen the kiss.
He tastes like desire and the chocolate ice cream we shared moments ago. I think I’ll always equate him with that newly awakened sensation he’s brought out in me.
Our tongues meet, hands press our bodies closer, and our lips express our need. The tourists littering the sidewalk have to walk around us, and for once, I really don’t care who is watching. Because it feels like it’s just him. And me. And he’s not going to leave and I’m not going to cry and all will be well.
The warmth of his kiss allows me to believe the fantasy for a few seconds before Mable’s loud, identifiable laugh sounds off to the right of us. “Well, thank God. It’s about time you kissed her senseless, Zander.”
Zander breaks the kiss but not before I can feel his lips curve into a smile. “You keep denying me, Mable, so I had no choice but to move on. A man has needs after all.”
She throws her head back and laughs, bosom jiggling and cheeks turning red from the attention. “Young man,” she says with a shake of her head and a point of her finger, “I think that lass right there is taking care of your needs just fine by the looks of that kiss.”
“No complaints here, ma’am,” he says with a lift of his eyebrows and a smile well into dimple territory.
“Such a gentleman.” Mable pats her chest in mock swoon. “Oh, Getty! We got a great bid on that sequined cocktail number today. It’s going to bring in some good—”
