Page 137 of Old Acquaintances

His eyes are closed, contented on the pillow, and he makes a sound. “You could have hugged me.”

“I wanted to, sometimes. It just felt weird.”

“I made you feel weird?”

“Not at all. It just was an awkward thought, putting my arms around you.”

He blinks his eyes open. “Because we weren’t friends?”

I shrug. I slide my palm along his chest hair, wanting to feel every curve of his body. A smile creeps into my mouth. “You’re kind of rough in bed.”

Tucker’s eyebrows tighten. “Did I hurt you?”

“No.” I lean forward and kiss him. “Ilikeit.” I swing my leg across his lap and fold my chest over his, and his hands run softly up and down my back. He breathes, I breathe, and our bodies rise and fall together, completely in sync. I scoot my arms around his head, a halo of fingers running through his dark, soft hair. I comment, “You have really nice hair.”

“Ditto.” He lifts his head for a quick kiss.

“I’ve never touched your hair before.”

“Not true.”

I think about that. I can’t remember a time when I would have run my hands through -

“Oh.” I remember now. “The wedding.”

His fingers dance across my shoulders and he kisses the arm by his ears. Tucker laughs. “Have you seen those pictures?”

I pinch my lips together. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Because they came in after the accident.”

“And Gracie never showed them to you?”

“My mom has one of the family framed, but I haven’t seen the rest of them.”

He touches my cheek. “Why?” He swallows. “Was it because of that night?”

I melt into his touch. “Because I didn’t want to look atyou.”

Tucker stiffens, not sure of what that means, and I hurriedly kiss him for comfort. I don’t want to go back there and rehash all of the old things, I want to create new things with him.

“I just missed you, that’s all,” I say, beside his ear.

My hands pull in beside me, my cheek running along his, and his arms wrap my shoulder blades, tightly. I’m rolled onto my back. Tucker presses his arm straight beside my head, leaning over me and staring into my eyes.

Caressing my forehead, he says, “I wanted you that night, Ella, you know I did. But I wanted more than one night. More than sex. And you just didn’t see me like that, and itruinedme.”

When I don’t respond, he lays his mouth all over my neck and chest, finally settling beside me. My stomach is hot under his palm.

I stare at the ceiling, scratching my nails on his forearm, and replay what I recall of that night. It’s true: I thought we could just sleep together, and it would be over. We’d move on, like the first time. But, to be honest, I don’t think I ever moved on from him.

Throughout my life, he showed up for me, time and time again, leaving a part of him uncovered, shedding a layer I didn’t know existed. I collected pieces of Elijah Tucker like a puzzle: a game he played, lifting the armrest, holding me when I felt scared.

That’s not part of the joke.

Just once.

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