Page 22 of Wild Child
My heart settled a little. No judgment from him, of course.
“It’s perfect for you.” He tugged on the fishing pole. “When is the first overnight guide?”
“Soon, I hope.”
He studied me for a moment. “Being outside makes you happy, just like always.”
I tilted my head back to the sun.
“Like always.”
“Wild child,” he murmured my most used childhood nickname with an undeniable warmth.
We fell back into thinking, but this time it felt easier. I filtered through all he’d revealed while I leaned back and surrounded myself with sunshine. Devin tugged on the worm, which had long since sunk, and recast it. We lacked only Thor, who we used to bring out with us as a puppy, and with him this would have been a perfect canoe trip.
For the next hour, occasional small talk filled the time, but not much of it. Devin seemed content to sit with his pole and not get a bite. His thoughts, like mine, were far from fishing. The quiet was a welcome reprieve after the day at the shop, and we fell into it the way we used to.
Just as my stomach started to grumble, Devin reached for the paddle. Wordless, I grabbed mine, and we started our way back.
White strings of lights from the Frolicking Moose welcomed us back. Inside, our new barista Dahlia bustled around, visible through the drive thru window as she attended to customers. Lizbeth’s book club filled the back room, which looked out over the lake. They’d see us out here together, and Lizbeth would have questions.
Ihad questions.
We docked the boat together. He helped me pull it out of reach, and I tucked the paddles at the bottom. Full tourist season hadn’t started yet, so it would be safe to rest out here for now. Then we headed toward the front of the shop.
At his car, he turned to me.
“Where do we go from here, Ellie?” he asked.
Devin tucked his sunglasses onto his shirt, where they hung around the neckline, giving me full access to his eyes. Their natural warmth had returned, but the receding wariness remained. His pant legs were still rolled around his calves and his tackle box dangled next to his thigh.
“Where we left off,” I said.
“Friends?”
“Friends.”
A thousand days of pain lay behind us that I couldn’t forget, but he didn’t ask me to forget them. We wouldn’t be the same people right this moment that we were then, but we didn’t have to ignore each other. The little box rumbled in my mind, but I ignored it and all the truths within. Friends came and went. That was fine. They were supposed to. I’d accepted that years ago.
As friends, Devin could come and go. He could go back to the life he had to live for at least six years—maybe he’d do more—and I could continue on the path I’d carefully sculpted for myself.
Thislifewas what I wanted.
He fiddled with car keys. “I have two and a half weeks left before I have to return to North Carolina. Can I spend some of those days with you?”
I nodded, unable to commit to an amount of time but just as unable to turn him away. My emotions were in turmoil inside me, torn between regret for what I hadn’t done but should have, relief that his decision hadn’t been about me, and fear. Fear of what this meant. Fear of the expression of hope that had returned to his face. Fear of more pain. More empty years. More of the truth I already knew to the depths of my bones.
Men leave.
Love dies.
You take care of yourself.
“I’ll text you?” he said.
“Sure.”
“Same number?”
