Page 22 of Cry For You

I can’t even believe thisis happening. My dream, the love I lost a long time ago, here standing in front of me. It’s all I can do to control my fingers, which want to reach out and touch her, to make sure this isn’t a sweet, but cruel, untouchable dream.

“When Jackson and I pulled up, I wasn’t sure what I was looking at. From the outside, it looks like a swanky office building,” she says, trying to make conversation but clearly avoiding eye contact.

“Yeah, it does,” I answer simply, wanting to hear her speak more words to me. Any words.

“You work in a bar?”

“I own a bar.”

“That’s great. You don’t stray far from the path, once you’re on it. Well, at least with this.” That hurts. She’s looking out into the fenced backyard, where the kids are playing with the rabbits.

I’ll take that little jab from her. I didn’t live up to my promises in the past, particularly to her. “I stuck to what I was good at, beer and a good time.”

“I remember. I knew you were headed somewhere in life. Boy, you could put a shine on a countertop.” She nods, smiling, and I smile with her for the first time since she arrived. It’s tight and tense, but it’s a start.

Shoot, I’m happy she’s here, that she didn’t flat-out refuse to do this project. She’s nervous, though. She’s been here for an hour. Most of that time she’s spent with her arms folded across her chest. But I think the more she gets to talk while watching the boys, the easier it’s getting. Great for me, because I know she’s not averse to being near me, alone. There’s hope for us to get to know each other again. Maybe I can be as bold as to think we can even be friends.

“What’s it called? I didn’t see a sign.” She draws me out of my hopeful thoughts.

I pull a printed napkin out of my pocket and hand it to her. I watch her unfold it, nodding her head, because I know she gets it. She remembers. She’s the only one that would.

“The Office.” She runs her finger across the plain black text. “I like it—good name. You always said that would be a good name for a bar.”

“I thought it was. Still is.”

“When a husband tells his wife he’ll be at the office, he’s not lying. He is actually at The Office.”

“Exactly.”

“At the office.” She looks straight at me for the first time, shaking her head, and smiles. A genuine, relaxed smile.

“Exactly how I remember it.”

“What?” Uncertainty flickers across her face.

“Your smile, the light in your eyes. I used to live for that. To make that happen,” I reply, honest and open.

“Landon, no.” She looks alarmed.

“Yes. I used to love hearing and seeing you laugh. When I left, I know the laughter stopped.”

“Landon,” she shakes her head, “the laughter stopped long before you were gone.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, lifting my hand to touch her, but I don’t. I have no right. She sees the moment anyway, looking at my hand with pained eyes.

“Stop.” She shifts her weight to one side, subtly turning away from me.

The last thing I want to ever see again is her shrinking away from my touch. Goddamn it, it killed me every time. It still makes me angry, the way she was ripped away from me. It feels like I’ve spent forever with regrets: regretting the way we ended, the way I ended us. I wasn’t strong enough for us.

“Hurting you, Lacey...I should have stayed.”

“I don’t need an apology, Landon. I understand now why you left. I knew why, but it still took time to accept. But I understood. You’re not to blame, and I’m not to blame; it just is. Time didn’t stop for either one of us, and look at us now. We are where we’re supposed to be.” She presses her bottom lip between her teeth, reminding me of the younger version of her, of how innocent she truly was.

“Are we?”

“Let’s not. Jacob and I should go. It’s getting late.” She turns away to call Jacob, but I need to say this to her.

Risking her scorn, I take a chance. I know I shouldn’t, but I need to. I gently place my hand over hers, by her side. One touch is all it takes for my heart to trip over itself with the familiar-but-now-foreign contact, only made so by time. I know she feels it, too.

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