Page 10 of When We Meet Again

When you drink water, remind yourself to be. It will benefit you and those around you by just being who you truly are.

Take care,

Tom

CHAPTER 6

ROMAN

Cleaning Waverly’s apartment doesn’t take long. As much as the smell of stale pizza and Thai food filled the air, it was easy to eliminate with the smell of cleaning products coupled with the circulating fresh air. The southern California breeze can make almost anything better. Don’t quote me on that. I saw it on a pamphlet once.

I’ve been riding on a silent high since I finished carrying her laundry into her room. Looking around their shared space wasn’t on my to-do list. But when I turned to leave the room, plastered above her nightstand was the sign I made for the DJ stand at her birthday party from years ago. At that moment, my heart beat a little harder and my smile was even harder to contain.

I finish up in the kitchen by wiping down the refrigerator door when I come across a list in Waverly’s writing.

~Bucket List before I’m 40~

- Line dance at a country bar

-Lie in a truck bed and watch the stars

-Kiss in the rain

-Ride on a motorcycle

-Start reading books

“Hey, Kensi! Is this your bucket list?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

She walks in with clean, folded dish towels and stops next to me. “Yep. That’s mine. I made it the day after my thirty-eighth birthday.” She gently slaps my arm. “I thought if I put it on the fridge, Patrick would see it and help me check off those boxes. If I gave him two years…I thought that would give him enough time. But, as you can see, that never happened.” She huffs out a disappointed laugh.

“You’re probably asking yourself what kind of forty-year-old woman hasn’t been kissed in the rain.” She raises her hand and pulls her bottom lip between her teeth.

“I’ve never kissed anyone in the rain either. I’m not sure if you can remember, but college girls, especially these days, are way too worried about their appearance.Oh, no! I just did my makeup. Let’s just make out in the car,”I playfully mock her, attempting—and succeeding—to elicit a giggle from her.That’s what I like to hear.

“Ahh, yes. I remember that from all of the college girls I dated.”

I quirk my brow. “Excuse me?”

“It was a joke. Relax. I swear…men.” I snatch the list from the fridge and toss it in the trash. What's the point of having a list that has probably been hanging so long it’s started blending in with the magnets.

When she starts unloading the dishwasher, I step behind her, sharing the warmth of my body. “How about this…” I start, and she pauses. “I can’t promise to check all of those off, because Ican’t read books for you. It’s physiologically impossible, but Idohave a truck, and I know a lot of spots that have little to zero light pollution.”

“Is that where you bury all the dead bodies?”

She has jokes!The old Waverly, the one I first met, is still in there somewhere. And I’m determined to bring her back to the surface.

I laugh, egging her on. “No, smart ass. I deliver boats to a lot of people. I don’t trust anyone else to do it.”

“I thought you were the one driving them.” Her face pinches, confused as to what I do.

“I used to do that, but had to hire a staff of highly trained captains. Now I get to do the boring shit. But! Before I was rudely interrupted by your twenty questions,” I joke, nudging her shoulder with mine, “I was wondering if I could help you out with some stargazing. Strictly platonic, of course. All I’ll need is your time. You can even wear this outfit if you want.” I gesture to the clothes she’s still wearing from earlier.

She looks down at her clothes and back up at me, the evidence of tears forming in her eyes as she almost silently says, “I don’t need you to take Patrick’s place, Rome.”A frown creases her forehead as she tries to be stronger than the tears that want to break free. “In fact, you’ve already done enough.” She gives me a curt smile and walks to the front door. “I think you should go. I appreciate your help, but I’ve got it from here.”

What the fuck?I’m hurt. I’m pissed. I’m embarrassed. How could she think I’m trying to take Patrick’s place? I’m trying to help her get out of her funk. I know people grieve differently, but they never come out of it if they don’t at leasttry. It’s been a year. Ineedto help her.

“Kensi, I’m not?—”

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