Page 92 of Gone With the Wine

“Well, I’ll be honest. I’ve never had sex here before either.”

His eyes crinkle up. “Good.”

I want him again, with an urgency that’s out of place with the fact that I’m still here in his arms. When he moves to pull his shorts back on, I want to grab him and hold on. But I let him go. I find my own shorts, straighten my bra and my top, and run my hands through my hair.

Jansen reaches over and pulls a piece of grass from my hair with a smile. “Hungry?”

“Famished.”

We open the cooler bag, which interests Moose, and spend the next while slowly eating a tomato salad, an assortment of charcuterie, cheeses and crackers, and fresh fruit. I pour us glasses of the wine I brought and we sip the zinfandel sitting with our knees touching, the breeze nudging my hair.

“Do you think?—”

He makes a choking sound.

I give him a chiding look. “Wait! Hear me out.”

He rolls his lips in on a smile and nods, feeding Moose a little piece of salami.

“Do you think our future selves are watching us right now through memories?”

His mouth relaxes. He sips his wine and looks over my shoulder. Then he nods. “Yeah,” he says slowly. “I think so. And this…this is a good memory. My future self will love this memory.”

My heart throbs. “Yeah. For me too. We should have memories that make us happy, right?”

“That’s all we ever really have, in the end.”

Yeah. He’s right. His words move me and give me a glimpse into his character. And I like it.

“Not all memories are good, though,” he adds. “Shit happens.”

I grin. “True. I’d definitely rather forget that I destroyed Mrs. Gerstenmayer’s shed.”

His lips quirk but his eyes are shadowy.

“I know there are worse memories than that,” I say quietly. “My dad dying. My mom leaving. I was only thirteen. One time Zoe Mayberry told me my mom left because she didn’t love me.”

“Fuck.”

“It was true, though.” I lift a shoulder. “How could she have left us like that if she loved us? I’ve come to terms with it now, but it was hard.”

“Of course it was hard. I can’t say I understand that, a parent abandoning her kids.”

“Nobody did. Nonna tried to tell us that Mama wasn’t herself because of the heartbreak of losing Daddy, but she left with a man and she’s still with him and she hasn’t come back, so I guess sheisherself. That’s who she is.”

“It’s not a reflection on you.”

“It’s hard not to feel that way. That you’re lacking somehow. How else could a mother do that?”

He doesn’t reply, his gaze going blurred again. “I’m sorry your mom left. You lost both parents and you were young.”

“Thank you.”

Jansen pulls out the wine bottle and tops up our glasses.

“What’s something you can’t do that you wish you could?” I ask.

He holds out a morsel of cheese to Moose and thinks. “Speak another language.”

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