Page 96 of We Redeemed the Rain

Color touched his neck and cheeks, but he powered on. “You tried to get us to talk on the phone. You made me promise to come to Peter’s funeral if he died. We sent gifts. Our spare time belonged to letter writing. We told each other everything.We went straight from friends to a hell of a lot more than friends, Bea.”

I nodded. He was right, of course.

“That’s why I stopped.”

I thought I said “okay” but my own voice was lost to me. The racket in my brain drowned it out.

He stepped closer, now within arm’s reach of me. “All these years, I’ve wondered how much I hurt you.”

I looked down, my eyes immediately storming with a fresh round of tears. I had tried as hard as I could to understand. I tried to give him the benefit of the doubt. I told myself we both needed to grow up and move on. But he did hurt me. I missed him more than words could possibly begin to describe. I checked the mail every day for a year. A wholeyearof waiting.

His hand came to my face and tipped it up. He whispered, “I’m sorry, Bea.”

I nodded, incapable of speech as his thumb brushed over a tear on my cheek. His eyes—did they mist over, or was it just my own tears making me see things?

“I’ve missed you ever since.” His chest heaved with shallow, trembling breaths.

Tag held his left hand flat between us, and I slipped my palm over his. His fingers clasped around mine as his thumb glided over the edge of my fretting calluses. Then he pulled me straight into his chest. His arms roped around my torso, wrapping me in a tight, full-body hug. In order to hug him back, I had no choice but to stretch out against him and loop my arms around his neck.

A thrill ran through me, making my knees feel wobbly.

His cheek pressed against my temple and his open hands pressed into my back. Every sensation blended into delightful torture. The crushing weight of this hug—a decade overdue. The stubble on his face brushing my skin. The confusing feelings storming through my heart. All of it coiled around my lungs until I forgot how to breathe. My breath hit his collarbone in uneven puffs.

His voice took on new resolve as he said again, emphatically. “I’vemissedyou, Bea.”

“I’ve missed you too. So much.”

This hug. Oh, this hug. I could wrap myself in it for hours. I squeezed him tighter as a question rolled through my brain. If we were morethen, what were wenow?

His voice dropped to a tender whisper over my ear. “I’m sorry for not bein’ honest.”

“I understand why you couldn’t tell me some of that. It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay.”

“Then I forgive you.”

He shifted, pulling me closer if it was even possible.

Do friends hug like this?

The way we were pressing into each other was not friendship. I’d never had a friend or seen a friend hug the opposite sex like this. My arms squeezed, and a few fingers found the curls sticking out from the base of his hat. I dragged my fingers over the back of his neck. His sudden exhale on my forehead confirmed he liked the way I was touching him. The response in my body felt like an electric current.

He dipped his head lower. We were almost cheek to cheek, and I couldn’t breathe.

Do friends want to kiss?

Because all I could think about was him turning his head, lips finding mine. What would they feel like? As tender as I’d always envisioned? Would he hold me? Would our first kiss be gentle and sweet or hungry and devouring?

My footing faltered and suddenly Tag was supporting my weight. I pushed off his chest and space materialized between us. “Sorry.” I murmured. I adjusted my shirt in an attempt to look busy and give myeyes something to look at besides Tag. I stole a glance at this face. Then did a double-take.

His eyes were hooded, face flushed. And he was looking at…

My mouth.

The conversation. The hug. The indirect confessions of feelings. I didn’t know what just happened, but not one single second of it feltplatonic.

I couldn’t reconcile Tag’s claim with the way he was looking at me.

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