Page 65 of Riptide

“Like the right window of opportunity. How my life looks at that point.”

And maybe the thing I never saw coming is the improbable outcome. The one variable no formula accounted for.

“I always thought I’d travel more, but I’m finding more and more that I don’t want to miss Rosie while she’s young. I like being here around family again.”

I could tell him that makes sense. It’s good he has roots here, and people who care about him. That wanting more but choosing to stay isn’t as much as a contradiction as he might think. But I don’t, because I don’t know where we’ll be a few weeks from now, let alone a year. I don’t know how this plays out; there’s so much that could sabotage anything we build that, as much as I want him, I can’t count on him staying for me.

***

It’s strange seeing him in the same clothes from Friday night, like hitting rewind on a weekend I don’t want to end. They’ve been washed, dried, folded neatly, but largely, he’s been in my clothes for the last two days.

There’s something about seeing him in his own clothes again that unsettles me more than I’m willing to unpack. One weekend spent together, and I’ve already gotten used to him padding barefoot through my kitchen in my sweats that hang too low on his hips, or sprawled across my couch, wearing one of my old shirts like it was made for him.

And now, I watch from the doorway as he runs a hand through his hair, trying to flatten the waves that have dried unevenly from his earlier shower. He glances up and catches me staring.

“What?” he asks.

I shake my head. “Nothing.”

The left side of his mouth tips up as he stalks toward me. “You’re gonna miss me, aren’t you?”

I scoff, letting him wrap his arms around me. “I am not.”

He snorts and pulls me closer still, forcing my arms to wrap around him too. “You’re gonna miss me, you’re gonna miss me,” he sing-songs, and I’m sure that my cheeks turning pink, mostly because he’s not wrong.

My eyes might be rolling, but I’m more concerned with the fact that my heart is jumping around my chest like a ping-pong ball. I’m suddenly hyper-aware of everything: the way his arms fit around me, how warm he is, how easy it would be to lose a few more hours to this. To him. And how badly I want that.

I bring my hands to the front of his hoodie, fingers curling into the soft cotton, and the scent of my detergent releases with the scrunch of fabric. He smells like my laundry, like my space, likeme, and some irrational, needy part of my brain is absolutely feral for it. It’s possessive and inconvenient and probably premature, but I don’t care.

“Iwasgoing to miss you,” I murmur, brushing my nose against his in a way that’s entirely too affectionate for the amount of distance I was pretending to keep. “But then you started singing, and I realize I need the peace.”

He laughs against my cheek. “That so?”

I nod, but I don’t move away. “Tragic, really.”

He nuzzles into me, clearly unbothered by my thinly veiled attempts at self-preservation. I hum, fingers tightening on the front of his hoodie. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“That’s what people keep telling me.” Lifting his head, his mouth brushes the corner of mine, soft and fleeting. “I’ll let you get back to your peaceful, singing-free existence.”

Something about that suddenly doesn’t feel so appealing, though.

He moves toward the door, but turns back at the last minute. “I’m babysitting Rosie Tuesday night. Do you… I mean, if I check with Daph and Huds, maybe you’d wanna babysit with me?”

The lilt of his voice when he asks the question hits my solar plexus with a thud. He’s nervous, and it’s going to make me more obsessed. It also serves to remind me how different our lives are and the fact that he’s still figuring out parts of his, helping his sister because he can, back at home with his parents at themoment. While mine is pretty set, there are very few surprises or dramatic turns…unless you count for the six-foot-three man in my living area right now and the ideas he effortlessly planted in my head about a life outside of teaching, about living again, about just…more.

It’s probably a bad idea, but that’s not what my brain has me responding with.

“I’d like that.”

His head bobs once, and the smile plastered across his face stays with me for the rest of the evening… Even as I grade what feels like a hundred papers, I find myself smiling.

Chapter twenty-eight

Finn

“Andyou’resureyouhave everything you need?” Daphne asks, so I pin her with a withering stare.

“Daphne, I look after Rosie four days a week. Her being asleep for the night is actually easier, so I think I’ve got it covered. Go. Have fun. Date. Make out in the car. Go be a young couple.”

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