Page 29 of The Christmas Letters
Roxie’s tail wags as she makes one more attempt, nuzzling her nose in between my hand and the book, then adding a salty wet paw to my lap. In a move that should only belong in a movie and not my real, actual life, she shifts her weight forward, pushing me backward on the blanket. I gasp and I drop my book, landing on my back with an audible oof.
Roxie hovers over me, a paw on either side of my head as she licks my face. I immediately start to giggle, suddenly not caring that as soon as Roxie moves, Drew will absolutely see who I am.
“Roxie, heel,” Drew says. “I’m so sorry. She must really like you.”
The dog finally runs back to Drew’s side, leaving me prone on the blanket, the victim of a very slobbery tornado.
My face is still turned away from him, and for a second, I consider staying right here. Maybe he’ll just leave. Walk away without realizing what woman his dog just affectionately mauled. But he’s a paramedic. I’m guessing he won’t walk away until he’s sure I’m okay.
But honestly, it’s not like I have anything to lose here. Drew has already made up his mind about me, so who cares what happens now? The thought is freeing, and I push myself up so I’m sitting again, making eye contact with Drew.
“You think she really likes me?” I motion to Roxie, calling her toward me, rubbing her face as she gives me another slobbery kiss. “I guess you didn’t learn it from Drew,” I say in my best doggie voice. “Did you, Roxie? No you didn’t!”
“Tess?” Drew says.
I look up, eyebrows lifted in what I hope is a playful expression. My gaze quickly skims over this dressed-down version of Drew. He was delicious in uniform, but he makes jeans and a hoodie look just as good. Maybe even better. I squelch the rebellious and perfectly useless observation and force myself to maintain a casual nonchalance.
“We have to stop meeting like this, Drew,” I say jokingly.
Roxie flops onto the blanket beside me and drops her head onto my lap. It is weirdly satisfying that she’s staying close tomeright now, instead of him, and I make a mental note to look into getting a dogfor real.
“What are you doing here?” Drew asks, his voice strained, almost like he’s uncomfortable.
It’s petty, but a part of me hopes heisuncomfortable.
“You mean,here,on a public beach?” I say, looking around me.
“Right. Dumb question,” he says. “Do you…live around here?”
I shake my head. “On the other side of the bridge. I just came out to relax a little bit. Do some reading.” I give Roxie another affectionate pat. “Until Roxie here decided I needed a bath.”
“Yeah. Sorry again,” Drew says. “I don’t know that I’ve ever seen her do that with a stranger before.”
“Like I said. Your dog hasexcellenttaste.” I shoot him a knowing look, and he grimaces as he lowers himself onto the sand beside me. His body moves with an athletic grace that’s impossible to miss, and I wonder if he plays any sports. Not that I need to givethatcuriosity any fuel. This is Drew, after all. I have exactly zero reasons to wonder about him at all.
Unfortunately, my brain seems to have missed the memo, because I’m drinking in the sight of him like he’s an oasis and I’m lost in the desert.
“I don’t doubt Roxie’s good taste,” Drew says. He’s quiet for a long moment before he says, “I’m sorry I didn’t say hello when I saw you at the hospital last week.”
I lift my eyebrows. I wasn’t expecting an apology, so this one takes me by surprise.
He catches my gaze, a question in his eyes. “I’d like to explain if it’s okay with you,” he says. There’s something sheepish about his demeanor that softens me the slightest bit.
“Explain why you didn’t say hello?” I ask. “Or why you didn’t call me?”
“Both?” he says, running a hand across his face.
If I could detect even a speck of arrogance in Drew, I might notwantan explanation, but there’s something so genuine about the way he’s looking at me, completely without pretense, that I find myself curious anyway—even if it might sting to hear it.
I pick up my sneakers and shake the sand out of them if only for something to do, then I set them back down and nod. “Okay,” I say. “Let’s hear it.”
He looks relieved, but it takes him a moment to speak. He stares out at the ocean for ten, maybe twenty seconds, which might not seem long when you’re counting down the last seconds of a basketball game, but in conversation, twenty seconds of silence is avery long time.
Finally, he hooks his arms around his knees and turns his gaze to me. “This feels like a terrible way to start, but Tess, I promise it isn’t personal.”
It doesn’t seem like he’s delivering me a line, even thoughit isn’t personalis only a few steps better thanit’s not you, it’s me,so I wait and let him continue.
“My last relationship—”
