Page 52 of Finding Our Reality

I shrug. “You know how crowded every place is on Valentine’s Day. Not to mention, it’s a Saturday. Besides, I haven’t ever really celebrated my birthday since leaving town; it’s just another day.”

There’s no point in reminding him that my only true birthday celebration was with him—twelve years ago. He knows that Carrie had to remind my parents about it every single year.

Then, Carrie was gone.

And then he was gone.

What was left to celebrate?

He takes a step closer to me, making me hold my breath. “It’s not just another day to me.”

I can’t do this.

I can’t be here. With him. This close to me.

I clear my throat. “Well…umm, thanks for stopping by. I’ll see you on Monday.”

His large hand slaps against the door, preventing me from closing it. “You forgot your present.”

“What present?”

He holds out his hand. “Come on.”

I stare at it. Is he kidding me right now? He wants to hold my hand? No. Definitely not. Not doing that.

Holy shit. He’s holding my hand.

My body turned Benedict Arnold and grabbed onto him without my brain even giving consent. Our palms fit together like melted butter, and his thumb slowly rubs against my soft skin, stroking back and forth like he’s done a hundred times before.

Although, those hundred times were over a decade ago. When we were young, when we were just kids.

Liquid heat boils in my body, gathering in a soft pool, low in my stomach. I’m about to ask where we’re going when he turns down the sidewalk and leads me through the wrought-iron fence and into the back yard.

Kill. Me. Now.

The swimming pool twinkles and shines with the soft glow from the floating water lanterns that I love so much. The paper lanterns that I dream about. The paper lanterns that filled the pond of the homestead on this very same night exactly twelve years ago. The night my parents forgot about me. The nighthe gave me vital information about Carrie’s case. The night he claimed me as his own, with his mouth, underneath the stars of the night sky.

“Thirty of them. Happy thirtieth birthday, Lulu.”

I can’t think. I can’t speak. I can’t even function. He’s sucked the dead existence from my soul and dared to ignite it, trying to stoke it to life. I pull my hand from his and rub the back of my neck. It hurts to even whisper. “Why are you doing this to me?”

“Don’t overthink it. It’s just a birthday present, just something nice.”

I turn to him. The light cascades off his body in waves, soaking him in highlights of white and yellow. “Is that all it is?” Because it feels like the love of my life is trying to break me. Trying to shatter my hate into little pieces. Pieces that will dissolve into the ground, leaving the past in the past, allowing us to carve a new future for ourselves.

He smiles softly. “For tonight it is.” He then sighs, dramatically. “Besides, it’s getting cold. And cold grease isn’t good for anybody.” He points over to the patio table where it’s set with plates and napkins and a cooler. Sitting in the middle of the table is a familiar paper bag dotted with grease stains.

My eyebrows raise into my hairline. “Philly cheesesteaks?”

“With cheese fries and sour gummy worms for dessert.”

My stomach instantly growls. Laughing, he sets the food out for us, giving me a Diet Coke and opening up a beer for himself. Ry doesn’t talk. He lets me eat in peace. Correction: he lets me stuff my face in peace. It’s frustrating that he knows me so well. He knows I’ve been craving a sandwich like this and denying myself just because I wanted to prove a point to him. Now, I can’t get it in my mouth quick enough. I’m surprised I don’t choke.

I’m leaned back in my chair, sucking the sugar off a gummy worm before we say more words than ‘hand me a fresh napkin’and ‘do youneed another drink’and ‘you have cheese on your eyelid’. By the way, I’m the one who had cheese on her eyelid.

“So, where’d you go?”

“Jackson, Mississippi. I got there Thursday night. I had meetings yesterday and today.”

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