Page 21 of When We Meet Again

“Stop it, will you? What do you need?” This woman. If she hadn’t birthed me, I’d hang up on her.

“Oh. I see. Hi, Waverly.” My mom waves.

Waverly comes up next to me and sticks her head in the screen. “Hi, Mrs. Huxley. How are you?”

My mom smiles from ear to ear. “I’m glad you’re with Roman. I know your birthday is coming up and we were planning on doing all of this a little differently before…” She goes silent, and we hear my dad muffled in the background. “Well, anyway…we have a trip planned down the Amalfi Coast and wethought it would be nice if it was for your birthday. Roman was going to be the one sailing the boat. And I’d understand if you didn’t want to do it, but we did pay–”

“Don’t guilt her into it, Mom.”

Waverly stays quiet next to me.

“I’m not guilting anyone into anything, it’s two weeks away. I’m simply—oops, Aunt Dolly is calling. Bye, Waverly.”

I press the red button and tuck the phone away, regretting even answering it.

“I’m sorry about that. I know she can be a lot,” I say, trying to do some damage control.

She walks away with the cloth and disappears into the bathroom. This time she closes the door, leaving me in the kitchen alone. And she takes the crackling tension with her.

CHAPTER 12

WAVERLY

Fortunate:I’ve done more in the past few days than I have in the past year—since the funeral.

Unfortunate:The clothes I own are hideous.

I am safe.

I am in control.

I am not my thoughts.

I repeat the words Tom suggested to deal with my anxiety as I splash cold water on my face and neck. A trip down the coast of Italy. What’s not to love about that? Except it takes place on water. A place I vowed to avoid. I made a promise to myself that the closest I would ever get would be the Venice boardwalk. Even then, that’s proved to be a disaster.

I practice my breathing, trying not to think about the man on the other side of the door. His words“I don’t want to be a rebound, Kensi.”Does he want to be more than a rebound? What did he mean? Why didn’t I ask him? Why am I so paranoid about everything? Why do my thoughts hit me like a hurricane? Unable to process one at a time.I need to call my therapist.

I splash water on my face once more before applying my night cream and brushing my teeth. I do everything short of taking a shower, hoping that when I get back out into the living room, Roman will be gone.

No such luck.

When I open the bathroom door, he’s sitting on the sofa reading a book. Not zoned out at the television like Patrick would be, but reading one of my favorite books. He looks up at me and smiles.

“This is a good one.” He smiles, which makes him devilishly handsome. He holds the page with his finger and eyes the cover. “I didn’t take you for one who reads romance.”

“Well, I am. It’s a beautiful genre that all men should think about reading for educational purposes.” He raises one eyebrow. “They could stand to take some hints on how women want to be treated—what we enjoy in andoutof the bedroom.” I roll my eyes.

“I don’t need a book on how to satisfy a woman, Waverly.” His voice dips low.

He tosses it onto my coffee table and pats the spot next to him on my Lovesac. I hesitantly follow his suggestion and slump into the couch, next to him.

“How do you want to be treated, Waverly?” He says my name low and slow.

I turn to look at him and my mouth falls open.I want to tell him how I want it rough and violent while making love. I want him to take me places I’ve never been before. I want to wrap my legs around his head and have him dive in. I want him to show me how much he wants me by not being able to keep his hands off me.But I say none of that. Instead, I cower because, at this point, I’m not sure I should be feeling what I’m feeling toward the man sitting next to me. And so Idefinitelydon’t want to be giving him tips to make me surrender to these feelings.

“I’d love to be treated like a normal person and not someone who’s breakable.” I settle for a drab comment, which is the truth, but significantly less fun.

His knuckles brush my leg. “I’d love nothing more than to break you,” he says so softly that I’m wondering if he didn’t say it at all. The touch of his skin against my leg sends a tingling current through my veins and lands between my legs. His gaze floats to mine and he slowly pulls his hand away and rests it on his lap.

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