Page 48 of Close to Falling

“Can you hold up on that for a second?”

I sigh and put it all down. “River, what do you want?” I ask, sitting down on the small couch and rubbing my temple. I close my eyes, but it’s brief because his words cause me to look up.

“There is just so much I want to say to you.” I watch him as he pushes off the wall. “I’ve gone over it a million times, but now that you’re in front of me…” He trails off, slightly laughing as he drags a hand over his mouth. “I can’t seem to find the words,” he says more to himself than me. He looks away, finding a spot on the wall while I sit with a pounding heart. His eyes dart back to mine, and he sighs. “I miss you, B,” he says quietly, his lips hardly moving. My eyes are glued on his face, shifting between his eyes and mouth as he speaks. “Tell me that after all these years you still miss me, too, baby.” Resting my elbow on my thigh, I cast my eyes down, trying to think of how to respond to that. Rubbing my fingers over my lips, I look back up.

“That was so long ago,” I say. “So much has changed, River. I…just…” I don’t know how to answer his question. Tell him I missed him, and it could give him the wrong idea. Tell him I didn’t, and I would be lying. His face lights up as though he has realized something, and he sighs and looks down.

With a half-smile, he says, “You’re seeing someone.” Like,duh, you wouldn’t still be single after all this time.

“No,” I say too quickly, and then I mentally kick myself for sounding so available and lonely. “I mean, I’m not in a relationship right now, just a casual date here and there, but that has nothing to do with this. I just can’t go back down that road. I’m a different person now.”

I see the relief on his face. “I know we can’t go back to the way things were. Honestly, I don’t want to. We were just kids who fell in love too young, but that love never died on my end.” His eyes are filled with truth, and his lip lifts. “You know, before all this shit got so messy, we used to be friends.”

“Is that what you’re suggesting? That webe friends? How would that work, River?” I ask, thinking he’s crazy.

“Easy. I want to be in your life again. If we can’t be together, then I’ll take friendship over nothing at all. Come on, B. You used to ride my handlebars and pretend like you were flying,” he says, showing me his dimples again. “Remember campfires at the beach and catching lightning bugs in the front yard? We used to stay up all night talking, and then we got older and you would tell me how you wanted to run away and be more than a small-town girl.” His smile is contagious, and I find myself smiling back. “Before the drugs and the parties, we were good friends.”

“It’s playing with fire, River.” I shake my head at this crazy boy.

“You’ve always been known to stand too close to the flames, B. You haven’t gotten any burn marks,” he says, looking me over.

“Yes, I have,” I reply solemnly. “I’ve got scars so deep, they no longer appear on the surface.” The light in his eyes dies and regret takes its place, but that wasn’t his doing. “My choices were my own, River. I’m not blaming anyone. I’ve been through enough therapy to know better. I’m okay now.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” he says with relief in his voice. “Come on.” He grins. “You know you missed me just a little.” I smirk and let out a sigh. My eyes go to the ceiling, and I suck in my bottom lip.

“Just friends?” I ask, looking back at him. “Nothing more.”

“Only friends,” he confirms. “Unless you want to make out from time to time, then that’s cool with me, too.” His shoulders shrug, and he looks like a kid up to no good. Who am I kidding? This is River Dawson. He was never up to any good.

“River.”

“I’m kidding, B.” He tries not to smile. “Just friends.” He holds up his hands.

“Okay,” I agree softly.

“Okay?” he repeats as if he isn’t sure he has heard me right.

“Yes.”

Smiling, he looks around the room. “So, since that’s settled and we are now back to being friends and all, I’d say you need some help with this.”

“Sure.” I wipe my hands over my thighs and stand. Grabbing the scissors and the bubble wrap, I hand them over to him while I pick up the art pieces and set them down on the couch. We talk and work at the same time, catching up on everything.

“What have you been doing with yourself?” I ask.

“I build furniture,” he tells me.

“Furniture?”

“Yeah, I have my own store downtown.”

“Really?” I’m not trying to sound disbelieving, but I mean, River building furniture?

“Yes, B, really.”

“I’d like to see it sometime.”

“Okay.” He looks around. “You’ve been busy with all of this?” he asks, changing the subject.

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