Page 72 of Fighting Words

He stops in the entryway to set down his suitcase and take off his boots, and it’s immediately jarring to have him in this place. His are the only designer labels in the cottage, the only new and shiny things for miles. He looks like a big bad businessman come to tear this place down so he can build a row of beige condominiums.

Once he’s down to his black socks, he pokes his head into the living room then turns back around to inspect the kitchen.

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” I ask, feeling defensive. I want to preempt any comments that might hurt my feelings. Already, I’m protective of this place.

“Small, but yes, I can see why you like it.” His warm brown eyes cut back to me, and he turns slowly, really looking me over for the first time since he arrived. His eyes soften as he tilts his head, smiling at me in a way that has always made me feel beautiful. “Where’s the author? Nathaniel?”

“Not here—”

I’m barely done with the second word before Andrew is on me, leaning down and pressing his mouth to mine.

It’s a reunion kiss and it does steal my breath like it’s meant to, but more so out of shock than anything. Our teeth clatter together. My hands go up to press against his chest and push him away. I laugh as he steps back. “I’m sorry, you just surprised me.”

My cheeks are beet red and hot with embarrassment.

I look away before forcing myself to meet his gaze again. Andrew has been in my life for so long, but for some reason right now he feels like a total stranger to me. I focus on the fine details, hoping they’ll help bring him into focus. His nose is ever-so-slightly crooked from when he broke it in a lacrosse game in high school. His smile is always a little higher on the right side.

He laughs too and shakes his head. “Sorry. Maybe I should have led with a handshake or something before I just went for it.”

“No, it’s okay.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to suggest we try again, for real this time, but I’m not there yet. My heart is beating too fast and my gaze is jumping around, like I’m scared to even look at him. I’m unsettled and uncomfortable and I think we should just move on from kissing for the time being.

Andrew senses my unease, and I know he’s not happy about it. His frustration is evident in the flat line of his mouth, but he doesn’t say anything. He sighs and nods, looking away as he turns to step into the kitchen.

“Why don’t I get you some water?” I suggest. “Or are you hungry? I can make you something to eat.”

“I’m not hungry, thanks. Water would be nice. Wine would be even better.”

I force a smile. “Wine it is.”

This is not the reunion he was expecting. I know Andrew and I know he would have calculated all the risks and benefits of flying over here to see me. As far as he knows,he’sthe one who broke up with me.Hehas the upper hand here, but then our relationship has never worked that way. Andrew has always been more invested and more demanding of me.

He was the one to push us to become official, claiming the boyfriend and girlfriend title after only a handful of dates. He was the one to say I love you first. It was our first Christmas together and he purchased me a pair of diamond stud earrings, massive and sparkling. They were beautiful but not something I would normally pick out for myself. As I stared down at them, Emma gasped. “Andrew, those are stunning.” And like always, it was her reaction that gave me the blueprint for my own. “Yes,wow. They’re stunning, Andrew. Thank you.”

Then he leaned in, and while my family looked on, he whispered in my ear, “I love you.”

Only it wasn’t quite a whisper and everyone was watching us, looking at me for my reaction. I had no say in the matter. I repeated it back to him because I cared enough about him that I didn’t want to hurt his feelings in front of everyone, and in a way, that proved something. I did care about him at least that much. Lincoln purchased Emma a coordinating pair of earrings. Apparently, the guys had gone to the jewelry store together and crafted this entire scheme. Emma put her studs on right away and I did the same. We squeezed together for a photo and everyone oohed and ahhed over us. I was so happy because they were happy.

“How was your flight?” I ask as I reach for a bottle of red, knowing Andrew will like it.

“No complaints.”

I’m sure he flew first class, which I can’t fault him for. If I had the means to travel in luxury, I would probably do the same. He would have never survived in my economy seat on the way over here, not with the man beside me openly weeping at the end ofRatatouilleor the woman in front of me unwrapping a tuna melt that had been concealed beneath her seat for the first seven hours of the flight.

I work on uncorking the wine bottle as Andrew tugs out a seat at the kitchen table.

“I didn’t realize people still lived this way. Is that a wood-burning fireplace?”

I smile at him. “Yes, what’d you expect?”

Andrew has a fireplace in his apartment, but it’s flush to the wall, and the blue flames dance behind glass. I don’t think it puts off any heat; it’s purely for aesthetics.

“Don’t tell me he chops his own wood,” Andrew says with a teasing smile. “You’re really roughing it out here, Summer.”

I pour him a glass of wine and set it down in front of him with a sarcastic smile. “Oh yes, roughing it.”

But he’s right, in some ways I am.

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