Page 74 of Happy After All

We continue the trail together, and he keeps holding on to me. His hold transitions from the hard grip that kept me from falling to alooser grasp on my hand. It doesn’t feel quite like holding hands in the traditional, sweet sense.

It feels more like he doesn’t want to lose track of me.

There’s something I find sweet about that. Maybe I’m deluded because I’m so attracted to him. Maybe I want to spin a one-night stand into gold.

But he’s so difficult I can’t help but find the strangest things endearing. Taking me to breakfast. Bringing me here. Looking angry at the ground because it almost made me fall. The scenery is familiar.Heisn’t familiar in it.

Experiencing this with Nathan is new to me, and I can’t help but look at him against the grand jewel of the sky, the strength of his body in contrast to the rocks, and the way he stands tall and straight next to the gnarled Joshua trees. This is my world. I’m captivated by the sight of him in it. The trail takes us to a flat plane through what might count as a grove of Joshua trees.

We stop when the trail ends, looking around at the vastness.

I don’t know what drives me to do this, but I take his other hand in mine.

I haven’t experienced romance since I started writing it. But I know how I would write the scene.

My heroine would be nervous and filled with trepidation. She can’t see what the hero is thinking.

My heart is involved, which I didn’t really want. I now have to resist thinking of him that way.

He’snotthe hero of my story. I have to remember that.

He’s a secondary character walking through the pages, on his way to his own story, but for some reason it doesn’t feel that way. I don’t know whether I’m happy or a little bit sad that all these years and all these changes haven’t done anything to make me cynical when it comes to romance. I have waited, maybe subconsciously, because part of me knew I could never be neutral about it. Part of me knew I could never take feelings out of sex entirely.

Until I know what I want, it seems like maybe I should. Instead, I decide to hold his hands. Instead, I look at him, and I let him see some of the feelings turning around inside me. Feelings I don’t even have a name for. Feelings I maybe don’t want to name. For one moment I expect him to turn away. There is a conflicted, dark look in his eyes that is so strong I’m sure it’s going to win. Then he lowers his head and kisses me. There in the desert, with nothing but the Joshua trees and crickets to bear witness.

It’s deep, intense. Harder and more passionate than I would ever expect from a kiss that can’t lead to sex.

His lips are firm and certain, his tongue sweeps over mine, and I feel a wave of need rise inside me.

Then he steps away and drops my hands.

I wish I knew what he was thinking. But I don’t ask. I recognize that the frustration I feel with the brick wall that is Nathan Hart is actually frustration with my own fear.

I’m walking carefully around the hallowed ground he stands on, because I know there are land mines.

I’m afraid of losing him before I have to.

Iamgoing to lose him.

He’s leaving at the end of the month, and he isn’t coming back. He made that very clear. If I connect the dots in a logical way, then I have to come to grips with the fact that the only reason he actually kissed me this time, the only reason it went this far, is because he isn’t coming back. It’s not a coincidence.

It’s him making sure I can’t confuse this with something more than temporary.

And I’mstillafraid to lose him any sooner than I have to.

I am, in fact, terrified of it.

Something happened just now, but I can’t parse what it is, and I’m afraid that if I ask, he’s going to turn and walk into the desert and I’ll never see him again.

So I don’t ask.

Instead, I allow the walk back to the car to be entirely silent, with no mention of armadillos, and no holding of hands.

I take us back to the motel after.

“Thank you,” he says. “I need to go and get work done.”

Let me in.

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