Page 93 of If Only In Our Dreams

I did my best to give Robin everything on his Christmas to-do list.

On one rather lovely night right before the last leaves fell, Robin accompanied us to a bonfire in the woods. We’d filled up on apple cider and craft beer, and he’d somehow gotten Rosie to agree to do the Macarena with him. Which was as silly as it was impressive.

Watching them wiggle their butts in the same direction while Jane curled up against my shoulder was probably my favorite memory in the world. It felt right. To share that with him. ForRobin to have so easily slipped inside my world. He was as stubborn as a thorn, and I knew one day if he left, I’d feel that ache forever.

Like Mama had said though, some things were worth the inevitable pain.

And if there was one thing I was coming to recognize about Robin Johnson, it was the fact that knowing him—for however long I would be blessed to know him—would be worth every resulting heartache.

Maybethatwas love.

Accepting that one day you might lose the person that made your heart full, but choosing them anyway. The deeper I sank, the harder it would be to heal, but I was at peace with that.

On Sundays we’d all train together, Robin would spend the night, andIwould spend as much time as I could inside his body. Fingers, tongue, whatever he’d let me. I learned him, inside and out, and on the nights when he was simply too tired to do anything but curl in my arms and rest, I held him.

Because that was perfect too.

It was a pattern. A beautiful, glorious, wonderful pattern. Like a patchwork quilt, different squares, all sewn together to make what would one day be the stories I told my grandchildren. They’d ask me if I’d ever been in love, and Robin’s eyes would come to mind. His laugh. His smile. The way he was more open than anyone I’d ever met, and yet more guarded too.

Like his heart was under lock and key.

Like he had one foot out the door, even as he gave me everything he had to give.

He was…

He was the kind of man that inspired sonnets and love songs. Which was fitting, considering what he did for a living. I found myself shifting, my world brighter than ever before, my smiles more freely given.

Well-meaning folk on the street commented on my changed demeanor. And Mama asked me when the wedding was going to be—she was joking, obviously—but still, that only inspired more ideas. Fantasies that made my heart flutter and my world a brighter place.

My books took a positive turn.

A turn I hadn’t expected.

Even seeing the women I’d been raised by giggling about the rimming and felching I’d written could not dampen my newfound joy.

And as the last of Belleville’s autumn leaves withered and fell away, I felt myself falling with them.

I never wanted it to end.

But even I knew something needed to give. At least…if Robin and I were going to figure out how to make this work between us after Christmas had ended and he’d gone back to L.A. I wasn’t opposed to a long-distance relationship. I visited California often enough because of book signings that we could see each other. And I had more than enough money to make those visits more frequent.

After watching the way he’d bonded with my daughters, I was more than a little inclined to foot the bill to have him more permanently in our lives. They loved him. Adored him, really. Even if they teased and prodded and poked him.

“Your hair looks bad,” Rosie had told him one day as they’d sat across from each other at the breakfast table. Robin had blinked, slow and sleepy, the way he did for the first half hour after waking up. His hair truly had looked bad, sticking up in every direction, white and fluffy. He’d had a pillow crease on his cheek, which I couldn’t help but find endearing.

He’d barely reacted to Rosie’s barb, other than to flick a blueberry at her.

To which she’d stared at him, and stared, andstared.

And then started giggling so ferociously it should’ve probably made him frightened. For the rest of the morning, she’d followed him around, chucking blueberries at him in revenge. And Robin, gamely, would simply laugh and bat them off.

I’d put a stop to it, of course.

And we now had a rule that throwing food was prohibited. But still. Watching them play together, comfortable and happy, made me feel warm in a way I never knew I could.

I’d never seen my children take to another person the way they had with Robin.

And while he knew exactly when to bluster to make them laugh, he was gentle with them too. Once, when I was cooking dinner—Jane was crying in the corner, and Robin came to the rescue. I’d been trying to get her to open up about what had happened, but she’d been tight-lipped and red-faced, and retreated to lick her wounds in private.

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