Page 90 of The Only Time

It’s a calendar. Not just any calendar. One with Eric on the front posing without a shirt on in his barn. He’s bending over his workspace as he cuts a piece of wood.

I recall what I said to him one time when I was watching him work in his barn. I told him how much I would enjoy a calendar of just sexy pictures of him in his barn with no shirt on. A smile spreads across my face when I realize what he did.

I walk over to my desk and take a seat then I flip it open. The January picture is of him cutting a log in his backyard. The muscles in his arms are bulging from the strength of him holding his ax over his shoulder.

My body instantly reacts to the picture. I almost forgot just how insanely gorgeous this man is. I flip the page to February where he seems to be cutting out a piece of wood in the shape of a heart.

He’s wearing a red and black button-down shirt with the shirt opened for me to have the perfect view of his abs. Each page that I flip to makes me laugh with delight. I can’t believe he did this. I wonder who he talked into taking these pictures.

I wish it was me.

A sting of jealousy hits me with who got to be behind that lens. What if he hired a woman?

When I get to December, the thought of who was behind the lens is gone, replaced with sheer joy. He is in his classic jeans, low cut with no shirt but wearing a Santa hat. This time he is in the woods cutting down a tree, but the sexy look he gives the camera makes me shiver.

The rest of the day, I’m a mess. I can’t figure out what all of this means. First the swing, now this calendar. The swing was sweet, the calendar hilarious, but there’s no notes or anything along with them for me to understand what they mean.

It’s driving me crazy and I’m about at my breaking point. I want to call him and scream at him! It’s not fair. I’m not strong enough to feel so close to him throughout these gestures and yet so far away.

The entire drive home I’m convincing myself that if I do call him, I need to be calm and rational. I can’t go off on him for being so damn confusing even though that’s exactly what I want to do. But when I pull into my driveway, my heart sinks into my stomach.

There’s a rental car sitting in my driveway. I park my car behind it and slowly get out of my car. As I walk past the car, I peek through the window but no one is inside. Then I hear someone clear their throat.

I turn my head and spot him sitting on my new swing. His eyes remain glued to me as I walk up the driveway. My body hums with excitement and shakes with nerves. It’s an odd combination.

When I approach, the warmth of the heaters actually makes it bearable to stay outside. He’s in dark jeans and a hoodie with a backwards hat on. I think it’s my new obsession seeing him dressed like this. My heart flutters at just how handsome he is.

I open my mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. I don’t know what to say.

A small smirk crosses his face, like he can tell I’m at a loss for words. “Hi, Mia.”

Well, I guess I could have started with a hello. But I’m too startled to think clearly. “Hi,” I say as my voice breaks.

“How are you?” he asks like this is just a casual conversation. Like this is normal. Nothing about this is normal.

“Umm, I’m fine.”

His head falls to the side. “Aren’t you going to ask how I’m doing?”

I take a deep breath, willing myself to say what I want. “Actually, I’m more curious as to what you’re doing here.”

He nods his head. “That’s fair. Care to take this conversation inside?”

“Oh, yeah, sorry,” I say as I realize I haven’t invited him in yet. “Come on in.”

I reach for my key, hoping he doesn’t notice my shaky hand as I open my front door. I take a step inside and turn on my lights then kick off my shoes and take off my coat. I lead him into the family room and take a seat on my couch.

I expect him to sit on the other couch or one of the chairs, but he takes a seat right next to me like it’s the most natural thing in the world. The suspense of all of this is killing me. He rests one arm on the back of the couch, and I have to remind myself not to fall into the crook of his arm like I used to. But the physical urge to do so is powerful.

“Where do I start?” he says as he looks at me softly.

I tuck a hair behind my ear nervously. “I don’t know, Eric,” I say as my voice cracks with emotion. “I just…”

“Hey,” he says gently as he places his hand on top of mine, which is resting on my thigh. “I’m sorry. Let me just start fromthe beginning.” He takes a deep breath, and only then do I recognize his own nerves.

“That night that you left,” he starts.

“I’m sorry,” I blurt out, but he holds up his hand.

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