Page 96 of Fated

I forgot. Here, according to Robert, I never wanted to be a mom.

But I nod. “I never knew I would. But it’s a love so big, so overwhelming. I was given this person to protect and love. I’m in awe of it every day.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” he says, watching me with a funny expression.

I lean forward, a glow lighting between us. “I didn’t think I could do it. But I had help. I had my family.”

Daniel.

“Maranda.” He nods. “She helped us a lot after Amy was born.”

I look up at the stars then back to him.

I want Aaron to know me. Not the me he thinks I am, but me.

“There’s one thing you don’t know about me.”

He tilts his head. The candlelight bounces off his sun-kissed skin. “Yeah?”

“I love time.” I smile, reaching out and tapping the wristwatch he’s wearing. “I love watches, clocks, timepieces. Everything about them. I love the history, the science, the mechanics, and the art. I love how a watch can be self-winding, as if there’s a little heart inside that keeps beating on its own. I love how for thousands of years humans have been fascinated by the sun casting its shadow on a dial, or the trickle of grains through an hourglass, or ...”—I smile at him—“the closing of flowers on a clock tree. I love time. I love watchmaking. I love everything about it.”

“You do?” he asks, looking at me as if he’s never seen me before.

“Yes. A hundred times yes. If you could see the Abry Headquarters in Geneva. The production facilities, the museum, the collection. If you could see the hundreds of intricate steps it takes to create a single wristwatch ...” I glance at him, swept away by my love of Abry.

A bittersweet ache lodges in my chest. I wish I could take his hand, pull him out of this dream, and show him everything I love. I’d take him on a tour of Abry. I’d show him our heirlooms—pieces that are plain or beautiful, worth little or worth a lot. I’d take him to the production facility and I’d let him see the McCormick, the watch I named for him. I’d show him the Flower Clock and I’d ask if he’d like to stay to see the seasons change.

“You’d like it,” I say, my voice thick, my throat aching. “If you like watches, you’d like to see it.”

“You’ve always loved watches?” he asks, his forehead wrinkling. “I didn’t know you’d heard of Abry. I’ve always wanted one.” He lifts a shoulder in a half-shrug as if that dream is beyond him.

And maybe it is. Just like I can’t bring books to Amy, I can’t bring a watch to Aaron.

But I could describe Abry to him. I could make him feel as if he’s walking the halls, glancing over a master watchmaker’s shoulder, holding the cool metal links of a perfectly ticking Chronomaster in his hand.

A warmth bubbles inside me. “I’ll give one to you,” I say, and when he lifts his eyebrows I amend, “Pretend. I’ll describe it all. Pretend it’s real. I know a lot about Abry watches.”

“You do?”

“I do. I’ve been learning about them for a long time.” I reach over and take his hand. “Close your eyes. I’ll make it so real you’ll be able to feel the warm metal of the watch around your wrist. I’ll make it so you can hear the ticking of the second hand. Then you’ll have an Abry.”

He smiles at me then. A delighted look. He closes his eyes and grips my hand.

So I begin. “Abry is in the country, outside Geneva. In the summer, when you look out the windows, the field below is a sea of sunshine-yellow flax and the mountains are indigo-blue, hugged by the dusty olive of the evergreens. It’s different than here. Even in the summer there’s a softness to the sun and a quiet breeze blowing off the mountains. Two siblings own Abry, a brother and a sister. They love it so much they swore they’d do anything to make sure it survived for the next generation. And they have. They’ve kept so busy, given so much of themselves, that they’ve put all their dreams into the watches they create.”

As I describe the love that goes into each watch, all the lost arts and the intricate steps, the hand-enameling and the hand-setting, a mellow richness flows around us. I lean into Aaron, settle into his side, and rest my head against his heart.

I build for him a dream.

And when I finish, having described the watch I’d make just for him, he opens his eyes and stares down at me.

“Thank you,” he says, the low rumble of his voice stroking over me. “That was beautiful. I’d like to see it someday.”

I press my hand to the heat of him. “I’d like you to too.”

He brushes a kiss over my head and wraps his arms around me. “But if I don’t, it feels like I already have.”

My chest pinches and I look up at him, the world feeling wobbly and unreal.

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