Lost in La La Land(65)

He had scars, loads of them. A large one on his back from falling off a roof onto a saw bench. His hands were rough and callused but the feel of them against my soft skin was exactly as wonderful as I had imagined. His knees were bad from years of construction, and his heart was bruised from an ex-wife who cheated on him with a workmate before she left him and died.

He didn't easily declare anything and he never offered his feelings without provocation.

He snored and ate terribly.

But he could cook and he loved his mom who he talked on the phone with every week.

He feared his dad who had died years ago but still haunted him in some ways.

He worked too much and laughed too little, but the moment you won that smile from him made up for all the grumpy faces you endured in his presence.

He was real and flawed and that meant he was perfect.

We made love, we didn't fuck. All the things he didn't say were explained there, physically. His hands and his lips and the way he held me so tightly to him that I thought I might burst, enlightened me to the way he felt.





Chapter Twenty-Nine


Middleton, Rhode Island, 2031



“Emma, you burning those steaks?” Mike called out to me on the deck.

I jumped up and ran for the barbecue, carrying the book I was reading with me. When I lifted the lid of the smoker barbecue he’d insisted we needed, I winced. I flipped them quickly and added more barbecue sauce. It was Gilda’s recipe and quite good.

“Nope,” I shouted at the screen door. Catching my reflection in the window, I grinned. The girl—woman—looking back at me was so altered I might not have known her. Altered in all the best ways.

Her hair was long and braided at the side. She wore a black-and-white sun hat and sunglasses and her shoulders had freckles. She wore a sundress and held a book, and all the cares in the world blew away in the sea breeze coming off the ocean.

Nothing lasted here—not weather, not feelings, not moods, not pain. Love was the only thing hardy enough not to break on the rocky shores or get swept away in the wind that never really died down.

I’d had no idea I needed it, the ever-changing ocean and the constant wind. I had no idea how therapeutic it was. Even when it was soft, it reminded that changes were coming. Some were good and some were bad but they were always coming, mixing it up and keeping it from ever getting stale.

He came out with a plate and a disappointed scowl. “I can smell the burnt meat.”

“No, you can’t,” I lied a little, grabbed the plate, and raised the lid, revealing completely uncharred steaks.

I lifted them off and put them on the plate, carrying them inside, hoping the sauce was enough to cover the burnt taste of the other side.

He pressed himself against me, kissing my neck and encircling himself over me like a bear. “You smell good. Like ocean air and meat.” He kissed again.

“It’s weird you find that combination attractive.” I handed him his plate, which he’d already done up for us both but was waiting on my single contribution: not burning the steaks.

As we sat on the deck at the large table that never felt empty, he lifted his glass of wine. “To you, Em, for thinking you fooled me by placing my steak burnt-side down and hoping I might not notice. And because you lost, you don't get to read your book while barbecuing, like I said you shouldn't.”

I laughed and lowered my glass. “Shut up, Mike.”

“I love you, even if you’re trying to kill me with carcinogens and can burn steak on a smoker, which shouldn't be possible.” He toasted me and drank. “That’s good wine.”

I took a bite of the salad, also Gilda’s recipe, and nodded. “Good salad too.”

He tilted his head, frowning. “You still don't say ‘too’ right. Too and darling.”

“As well,” I said as American as I could. I didn't tell him that I still read with a British accent.

“Much better.” He winked and cut the steak, flashing the darker side at me. “You’re seriously considering cooking school? Right? I mean, not as a professional, but more like a survival thing. The fact you’re even using the barbecue is amazing. But you need to overcome the whole gas-burner thing.”

“I have thought about it.”

“You really should think about it. If you went in the evenings for something simple, I’d go with you.”

“You don't need to learn to cook.”

“I know. I’d go in looking like a big dumb construction worker and then surprise them by being the class star.” He gave me that bitter grin.

“Oh my God.” I rolled my eyes. “Your humility is awe-inspiring.”

“I know.” He chewed and took a sip of wine. Watching him eat was a pleasure I’d never enjoyed in another person before. He chewed and flexed his jaw in a way that made me pause in the middle of eating and stare. “You’re doing it again.” He scowled and swallowed the bite with difficulty.

“Doing what?” I played dumb.

“The staring thing, where you zone out and watch me eat.” He hated it but I didn't care.

“Oh.” I continued to stare. “Just lost in thought.”

“Speaking of which, how’s the new book?”

“Good. Suspenseful and funny.” I bit my lip, about to confess something I never imagined in all the worlds I would. “I have been meaning to tell you something.”