Page 40 of That Reunited Feeling

“I know,” he whispers. And out of the darkness, his fingers land on my face.

His touch is thrilling and comforting and something I should back away from, but I don’t.

It’s important he knows I understand, that I get it now. “You’re right. You were just a kid. And the grown-ups wanted to do what was best for you. I get that. I get why you stayed.”

I can’t help but lean my head into his hand. “But I was a kid too. And I missed you. And I was waiting for you to come back. Or to go visit you. Or something.”

His thumb tick-tocks across my cheek. “I know that now. And I’m sorry.”

He takes a deep breath. “You know I loved you too, right?”

I nod against his hand.

“And you know what?” He pulls my face closer to his and leans toward me. “I don’t think I ever stopped.”

My belly flips and my heart races, every inch of my skin prickling with possibility. The spark between us is still here, something I can almost reach out and grab. Is a do-over possible? Can people who loved each other as kids love each other again as adults? Can an impossible situation be made possible?

Flashes of passing lights illuminate Tom’s parted lips, that silly black dot from the marker pen just above them.

Our car lurches.

The driver shouts, “Holy shit.”

The brakes lock.

Not wearing seat belts, Tom and I are flung forward against the back of the front seats.

“Sorry, folks,” the driver says as he accelerates to normal speed again and we drop back against the back seat. “That semi cut in front of the car in the next lane, and I thought he was heading right for us. Didn’t mean to shake you up.”

But thank God he did. Shaking up was exactly what I needed.

“It’s okay,” Tom tells the driver and puts his hand on my thigh. “You all right?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” I shift away from him till his hand falls from my leg. “Looking forward to getting back and seeing Dylan.”

The last thing I need to do is fall for Tom all over again. And get hurt all over again.

I’m moving to California for a better life for us. A better life for Dylan.

12

HANNAH

The formal living room might hardly ever be used, and it might already be pretty damn clean, but my God, it’s getting the dusting of its life this morning.

I don’t usually work Sundays, but I wanted to thank Maggie for watching Dylan last night. I also need to keep busy. And Dylan needs to do a bunch of homework, so I’ve given him some space and quiet to get it done and to prove he can be trusted to do what he’s supposed to do and not just play games as soon as I’m out of sight.

I run the duster along the deep sill of the window that looks out over the stretch of lawn between the house and the driveway. It comes away almost clean.

The last time this room saw any action was just before Christmas, when Maggie and Jim hosted a big family gathering ahead of Max and Polly’s wedding.

A family gathering minus Tom, who was apparently stuck in London for work, and heading straight to Max and Polly’s new house in upstate New York right before the ceremony.

Maybe Maggie noticed my relief when she let me know about that plan, and that’s why she didn’t tell me he was coming this time, so I didn’t have a chance to run away and avoid him.

Sneaky.

She obviously has some kind of motherly or auntly instinct that told her we wouldn’t be able to resist each other if we were thrown under the same roof. And while she was right, she was also very, very wrong.

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