Page 90 of Promise Me This

Callum’s bare feet thud softly against the floor as he crosses the room, climbs into bed, and settles on top of me, careful to balance his own weight. There is pressure but no heaviness. There is no pain, but there is no pleasure, either.

He traces a thumb across my cheek, along my jawline, into the softness of my bottom lip. “Have I mentioned how much I will miss you?”

“You have,” I whisper, and it aches—the yearning. “But tell me again.”

“I will miss you when I drop Niamh off in the mornings and you are not there with a dollop of fresh cream smattered on your nose.” He kisses the phantom mess, and I watch him as he does. “I will miss you when Saturday morning comes and I have to eat both sausage rolls myself.”

I snort softly. “Don’t blame me if you gain weight.”

“I will blame you, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.” He nips at my bottom lip. “I will miss you at Sunday dinner, making bedroom eyes at me across the table.”

“I’m sure Padraig and Siobhan won’t be missing that.”

He pauses, locking eyes with me. Without his glasses, I can see every shade of green, and it’s beautiful.

“What?” I ask, breathless.

He shakes his head with a half smile splayed on his lips. “Nothing, you just said that the way an Irish person would. ‘Won’t be missing.’” His lips brush against my nose. “We’re rubbing off on you.”

Warmth spreads across my chest, and my heart yawns up into my throat. Pride and sadness and love exist simultaneously, filling every available inch of space.

“What else will you miss?” I whisper.

“This,” he says, and then he covers my mouth with his. My lips part, and he slides his tongue against mine, tasting me. Memorizing me.

I trace my fingertips along the length of his spine, coming to rest at the hem of his shirt, and tug it upward. His lips stall against mine, and he pulls back despite my whimper at his retreat.

“Make love to me.” I don’t even care that I’m begging. I need him, and I need him to know it.

The low light cast by the bedside lamp dances in the shades of his hair. He smiles crookedly at me and shakes his head. “I will, but we have somewhere to be first.”

I raise an eyebrow at him, and he smooths it over with his thumb. “You’ll see.”

My stomach growls, reminding me of the long drive and lack of food during. “Is there food involved? Tell me there’s food involved.”

“You’ll see,” he repeats, and then he’s up and I’m empty, longing for his weight again.

We retrieve his car from the valet and drive in the opposite direction I’d hoped. Away from the thick of the city, where restaurants exist in abundance, and out toward the more residential areas. Streets packed with rows of brick apartment buildings give way to tall, tightly situated single family homes, and then we’re climbing, and there are only a few houses amid stretches of thick woods.

A sense of recognition starts at the base of my neck and trickles down my spine. I blink against the yellow light cast by the occasional streetlamp as I step back through time. When we reach a familiar winding gravel road, I’m twenty again, and we’re in the kind of love that only happens once in a lifetime.

But it happened for us twice, and I’ll never be able to thank the universe enough for that.

We stop in front of that same gate, now even more rusted with the ravages of time, and I don’t hesitate. I hop out of the car and yank it open, allowing Callum to pass through. It creaks in protest when I close it behind us. I return to my seat, quiet with anticipation.

There is only one other car parked at the viewpoint, off to the left with the windows fogged over. We could blame it on the heater building condensation on the glass where it meets the cool night air, but that would make us naive. I look away from the silhouettes to give them privacy.

Below us, the city is alight. Windows form a thousand glittering embers. Headlights zipping along the winding streets dance like fireflies. From so high up, it’s easy to forget that for every light there is a person, and for every person, a life. When I was younger, I looked at them all and just admired their beauty. Now I wonder if they’re happy. I hope that they are.

“Thank you,” I say, unshed tears coating my throat.

Callum’s hand finds mine in the dark of the cabin, and then he climbs over the center console and pulls me along. He’s broader than he was at twenty-two. His shoulders strain against the seams of a blue sweater, and I run my hands along them, over the swells of his biceps, across his corded forearms, until our hands can at last intertwine. There is trepidation in our touch, and tenderness, too.

“I’ll miss you when I sit down to read and you’re not there to distract me by asking what the book is about,” I say; then I press my lips against that scar in his chin. He releases my hands and finds the edge of my sweater, then draws it over my head.

“I’ll miss you when I have to go fill out paperwork at a government office, and you’re not there to buy me a magnet to mark it as a special occasion.”

I strip his sweater from his body, and then my bra from mine, so that our skin is bare and hot and soft against the other’s.

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