Page 13 of When We Meet Again

What?It’s what men are supposed to do for women. My father engrained it in us before he taught us to pee standing up. “My dad.Ourdad. He was huge on treating women respectfully. He made sure to really hammer it into me…and Patrick.”

“Huh.” That’s all she says. Her eyebrows raise briefly. Did Patrick not open doors for her?

I try not to travel down the slippery slope of the past, so instead I toss my phone in her lap. “Turn on some music. We have a long drive.”

She positions herself in her seat, legs crossed, facing me with an evil look on her face.

“Ah! Wait. I got you a coffee. You still like that oatmeal cookie creamer?” I hand her the cup from the holder, and she takes it with wide eyes, looking at me like it might be poisoned.

“Yes,” she practically whispers before she takes a sip. Her lips line the opening and her eyes close before she moans softly. “Mmm. That’s so good.”

I can’t help but smile, and resituate in the seat because that little noise did something to me.

With my phone in her hand, she taps the screen. “Oh-ho-ho, you’re going to wish you never asked me to be the DJ, sir.” The light of the screen bouncing off her face illuminates her smile. I think back to yesterday, I could barely get her out of the house.

Silence between us is deafening. Not sure if it’s the anticipation that’s making this as awkward as hell, or maybe she’s just the silent-passenger type—but then, the start of “Dreams” by The Cranberries starts playing.

Waverly’s eyes close and she starts singing the lyrics like they’re a part of her. Damn, she’s good. NotAmerica’s Got Talenttype of good, but she can carry a tune. I won’t try to read into the lyrics, but they’reimpossible to ignore.

We havethree more miles until we arrive at Joshua Tree National Park. She’s played everything from The Weeknd, to Def Leppard, to La Bouche. I had no idea who the hell La Bouche was until Waverly clued me in and insisted that, “The 90s were a way better music era.”

I turn down the radio while she’s belting out a song I’ve never heard before.

“Take my breath away!” She scream-sings. It’s nice to see her having fun. I almost forget why we'rereallyspending so much time together, but at the end of the day, it’s my job to take her mind off Patrick.

I’ve done my share of mourning my big brother when I’m alone. But knowing I had someone else to take care of—someone as broken as much as, if not more, than me—it’s made his death almost bearable. And it kills me to say it; the last thing I want is for Waverly to be as broken as I am.

Once we park, I kill the engine and tell her to stay put while I set up for the night. She fought me on it. Of course she did. But I love seeing a glimmer of the Waverly she once was; her feistiness was always something I adored.

I'd pre-cut a six-inch memory foam mattress to fit the shape of the truck bed, and I'd thrown a red and black flannel blanket and comforters over it. Tonight, Waverly's comfort is my priority. I'd taken note of the vast number of pillows throughout her apartment, so I'd lined the truck bed with just as much fluff.

I hurry around to the passenger side and help her out.

“Do me a favor and don’t look up until you lie down.” I want to make sure she has the full experience, “Promise?”

“I promise,” she whispers, as she rests her hand in mine and hops out, looking up at me like I’m about to give her the stars. And I am. Every single one of them.

I lead her around the back and help her jump up into the bed of the truck. “Oh my! Roman, this is amazing! You did all of this?” She looks at my homemade accommodations and beams with happiness. “So many pillows! I need to lie down. Right now!” And she settles herself into the cloud of pillows lining the side, staying true to her promise to keep her eyes low. And they're low; roaming as she scans the rest of my handiwork across the pile of blankets strewn tastefully about, to land on the massive tub of popcorn in the corner as she lights up with joy. Next to it are two flasks of her favorite whiskey, and a bottle of water to make sure we have all our bases covered.

“Mmm.” She moans with her eyes closed. “This feelsso good.” Her voice is raspy and seductive, and it’s causing the blood to flow straight to my groin—an unwelcomed surprise when I remind myself over and over again thatshe’s my late brother's fiancée.Her eyes flutter open and hood, offering me a lazy smile. “You really pulled out all the stops, didn’t you?”

I can tell she’s nervous. “No stops to pull. I have some work to do as your new best friend.” I smirk.

“My new best friend? That’s bold of you to say. Did you forget about Victoria?” She cocks her head to one side, meeting mestraight in the eye. “If she hears you call yourself my best friend, she’ll have your head.”

“I believe a person can have two best friends.” I nudge her leg, signaling for her to move over and give me room to climb up, “I’m not one to compete, but I’m obviously the better one,” I joke, waiting for the inevitable smile, which she, of course, grants, before pulling a blanket up to her waist. I settle into the truck bed and sit beside her, close enough to see her green eyes through the black, but with enough distance so that I don’t make her uncomfortable

“Can I look up yet?” she asks in anticipation. The stars are so bright when they don’t compete with the city lights…so much so that I can see the glimmer of excitement in her eyes.

“Of course.” I don’t turn with her to look up, but I watch her reaction.

Waverly’s eyes flutter shut, she takes a deep inhale and lets it out, slowly tilting her head to the sea of stars, opening her eyes. If I could only live one moment for the rest of my life, it would be this one. Her mouth falls open, part wonder, part smile, and tears form in her eyes, as she lets out a huff of air.

“This. This is…magnificent.” She leans back onto the bed of pillows and lets her hands fall to her sides as her eyes remain fixed to the sky. I can’t look away. I know I should. I’ve been watching her for longer than is appropriate, but I’m scared that I’ll miss a reaction flashing over her face. And I can’t bear to miss any spark of joy after not seeing it for so long.

She lets out a sigh of content, and I finally force myself to tear my eyes away from her face and lower myself into her mirror image on the pillows beside her,

Like her, I allow my arms to fall by my side. Like her, I turn my gaze to the sky. Seconds turn to minutes, and minutes turn to hours. Three hours, to be exact. Eventually, I stopped watching the sky and returned my gaze to her. But her head has movednon-stop, as if she was afraid to miss something under the starry dome.It’s three in the morning and I’m next to the woman I never thought would give me the time of day again.

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