Page 22 of Forget Me Not

“Coop?” He asks again, concern growing in his voice when I don’t answer.

“Of course.” I drop the leg I had propped up on my chair and sit up straighter. Because somehow sitting up straighter gives a better illusion of my emotions. The illusion that I’m not having any. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

I reach for my bagel but the thought of putting it in my mouth makes my stomach turn.

“You seem off. Distracted.” He folds his paper, laying it down on the corner of the table. Finally, I get to see his whole face. Hisexceptionally handsomeface. He’s not a boy anymore. Not that he’s ever been boyish...or soft. Everything about Gun has always been laced in strength and shielded by a rough exterior. And it shows in every aspect, right down to his strong jaw which is covered in a careless scruff, his mouth which rarely yields to a smile and his dark green eyes, which only seem darker and deeper the longer you look at them, in part due to his dark brows and thick black lashes. But, he exudes so much more than just his strength now. And I get a fresh taste of it, as he leans over the table, hand moving over my wrist, gently stroking my skin. There’s no denying the chills he sends through me, or the way my heart still races when his voice drops deeper in that quiet intimate way it only does when it’s just us. “Is it work?”

I nod out of reflex. Then, my brain jars its way back to reality and my current mess, and I realize I’ll need a reason for work to be distracting me and I don’t have one. “I mean, no more than usual.” I place the bagel back onto my plate without taking a bite. “New season, new line, you know? I’ve been toying with a few different styles and colors but nothing has really clicked for me yet.” I own a small pottery studio located in the shop below my apartment. I do lessons a couple of times a week, but mostly I work on creating my own pieces which I sell through several local boutiques. Especially in the tourist district, the stuff sells like hot cakes, local artist and all. Anyway, I’m not getting rich off of it anytime soon, but I’m twenty-five, running my own business and doing what I love. I depend on no one, and I always have enough of what I need to get by. It’s safe to say, I’ve surpassed the expectations people had of me. And me, I’m content. It’s not everything I ever wanted, but it’s more than I thought I would ever be capable of.

“You’ll come up with something.” He smiles. I take a moment to bask in it, his smile. It only appears on rare occasions, like now, because Gun believes in me. Always has. “And, it’ll be amazing.” Somehow, when he says it, I believe him. Someday, I’ll believe in myself, too.

“Thanks, Gun.” I try for the bagel again. I get it closer to my mouth this time, but as soon as I can smell the cream cheese, I’m out. Breakfast might be the most important meal of the day, but it’s hardly worth it if it’s going to cost me dinner. Of course, at this rate, I can’t imagine any meal appealing to me ever again.

“Kerri called me,” I blurt out, hoping it will help ease the anxiety I’ve had pent up inside me for days now while also keeping me from starving to death.

Gunnar freezes in the middle of stirring his coffee. The liquid continues to swirl around his stiff spoon. I feel a lot like that coffee. Spiraling.

“Kerri who?” But his slanted eyes tell me he knows exactlyKerri who.

“Don’t do that.” I turn away from his accusing gaze and pull both knees up to my chest. “We both know there’s only one Kerri.”

His jaw tightens as his hand abandons his coffee entirely. “Why now? What did she want?”

I take a deep breath. I’m the one who opened this can of worms. To ease my own guilt. It was selfish dragging Gun into this and now I need to suck it up and deal with it. Make him feel okay again.

“Reed is missing. For some insane reason, she thought he might be here. I told her he wasn’t and that was the end of it.” I fight the urge to bite down on my lip. He’ll know. Gunnar knows all of my ticks. All of my cues. He’s known me longer than any other person in the world. He’s heard all my secrets. Seen all of my heartache. But this...I can’t tell him this. It’s not right. Gunnar’s not just my best friend anymore. He’s more. After everything he’s been through with me, all the time he spent waiting for me, standing by me, looking out for me, he deserves to be.

“Why is he missing?” His expression is softening up ever so slightly. He can’t stay mad at me. It’s his biggest downfall. And a constant source of guilt for me.

“I have no idea.” It’s the truth. Every reason Kerri gave me was complete speculation. Baseless. And definitely not worth upsetting Gun over. “Apparently, he just took off and didn’t tell anyone.”

He nods, digesting everything I’ve just dropped on him like a bomb with his coffee and comics. I’m a horrible person. He brings me breakfast and I bring him stress and heartache.

“Well, I hope he’s okay. I used to wonder if he would just snap one day. Going through what he went through...”

I wonder if he’s thought the same thing about me. Probably.

“Gun?”

“Yeah?” His eyes are warm when they land on mine again.

“It’s in the past.He’sin the past.”

He smiles, almost completely hiding the sadness I can still see in his kind face. “I know.”

And then we stop talking about Reed and he goes back to his paper. The bagel on my plate continues to taunt me, but I give up attempting to get close to it. Instead I just wrap both arms around my legs as tightly as I can and try to snuff out the fear swirling inside me. I keep an ironclad focus on Gunnar sitting across from me. My constant from the time we were nine and landed in the same home. My best friend. My savior. And the one person on earth I never want to hurt... but inevitably always do.

“I can make pancakes.”

“What?” I look up from the spot on the floorboards my eyes had landed on.

“If you’re not in the mood for bagels. I can make pancakes.” Gun is still hidden behind his paper, but somehow my not being able to see him never stops him from seeing me. If it wasn’t him, it would be creepy, but it is him, so I’m used to it. Depend on it even.

“Thanks, but it’s not the bagel. I’m just not very hungry this morning.” I do my best to smile even though he’s still not looking.

Then, the paper is folded down and placed on the table simultaneously to him getting to his feet. He’s grinning. “Pancakes it is.”

“Gun.” But it’s no use. He’s on the move and headed for the center island of my kitchen. Pans are clanging against each other in the cupboard as he searches for the skillet he wants. Next, my mixing bowl is on the counter and a cloud of flour dust fills the room.

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