Never Let You Go(87)

Finally I got bold and said, “Are you ever going to kiss me?”

He looked surprised. “You want me to?”

“Do you want to?” Okay, so it wasn’t my best line, but I was more than a little drunk and out of practice. I’ve never had to make the moves before. It worked anyway. He smiled and leaned over and kissed me, his mouth warm and tasting of sweet red wine and chocolate cake.

We kissed on the couch for a while, then I took his hand and led him to my bedroom. My body felt drugged with endorphins, my legs wobbly and my heart beating fast. He left before Sophie came home, murmured against my lips, “I’ll call you.”

I woke up daydreaming about the scent of his skin, his touch, the taste of his lips, his deep laugh that made his chest vibrate, how good his shoulder muscles felt under my hands. I could still smell his cologne on my sheets and wrapped them tight around me. Then I had the panicky thought that it might have been impulse on his part. What if he had regrets? I rolled over and checked my cell and saw his text message. Good morning, Sleeping Beauty. Last night was amazing, but let’s do this right. I want to take you out for dinner. Is tonight too soon?

We’ve been dating for two months now. During the day we text or FaceTime, and the nights we don’t stay together, he always calls before bed. I don’t know where we’re going—we haven’t discussed our future, it’s too early, but we agreed to live in the moment. Each weekend is an adventure—a new hiking trail, rock climbing, a bike ride in the mountains, shopping the local market and cooking together, or maybe just an all-day movie marathon.

We were sitting on the couch at my place one night, legs entangled while we talked about spring break, when I said, “The three of us should go away somewhere.” With any other man, I would have waited, but Sophie didn’t seem to mind when I stayed over at Marcus’s place or when he came to our home—probably because we’d already lived with him for a few weeks.

“Yeah? Have any ideas?”

I studied his face while I thought it over. His hair had gotten a bit long, falling across his forehead. I brushed it away, smoothed my thumb over the lines on his forehead, marveling that I can do that now. It still amazed me that I’d known this wonderful man for over a year and had no idea our friendship could turn into something so special.

“Maybe skiing? The mountain is still open.”

He paused for a moment, then said, “What about my lake house? I just have to call the caretaker and check that it’s ready. It hasn’t been rented for a few months.”

“Are you sure? Would that be hard for you?”

“The lake is beautiful at this time of year. I’d like to show it to you. What do you say? Want to give it a try?” He leaned closer and whispered, “I need you there.”

I cuddled closer. “It sounds lovely.”

I was still a little nervous about how it would be for Marcus, with all his family memories, but we would build new ones together. I imagined early morning walks, a cozy fireplace, making meals together, playing board games. When I told Sophie, she asked if she could bring Jared. After discussing the ground rules—separate bedrooms, no sneaking around—I agreed, but then Friday she announced that he was going away with his friends. She said it was no big deal. “Everything’s fine, Mom.” But I think she’s more upset than she’s letting on.

I move to the couch near where she’s sitting and pull the cream-colored afghan over my shoulders. “Why don’t you check out some of the movies?”

Marcus looks up from the fire. “Help yourself.”

Sophie opens the entertainment center under the flat-screen TV, but her movements are listless, her shoulders slumped. She pulls out a few DVDs and puts them to the side. She slides in a music CD instead, then lies on the floor, arms behind her head and eyes closed.

The music is soft, romantic. I think of Marcus’s ex-wife, Kathryn, their shared history in this cabin, all the memories they must have made here with their daughter. Did they listen to this CD? Above the fireplace there’s a painting of a couple in a boat, just their backs visible, and I wonder if it might be Marcus and Kathryn, then I shake off the thought. He would’ve taken that down—even if it doesn’t seem as though he’s changed much else. The house is friendly and inviting, but definitely feminine, with a large sprawling couch, overstuffed chair, and ottoman in a floral pattern, and antiques like the mahogany dining room set that separates the living room and kitchen. None of it looks like Marcus’s taste, which is more modern.

On the main floor, there’s a small bathroom down the hall leading to the master bedroom with its own bathroom, a laundry room, and a spare bedroom at the back of the house. Upstairs there are two more bedrooms. Marcus pointed out which one was Katie’s—the door was closed. Sophie picked the other upstairs bedroom because she liked the view of the forest.

Earlier I noticed a framed photo of Katie on the dresser in the master bedroom. It was a shot of her sitting on a beach, which I assumed was on the lake. Her chin rested on her knees as she gazed out at the water. I wanted to ask Marcus when the photo was taken, but I decided to wait. This is hard enough for him, I’m sure.

In the living room knickknacks are spread around like happy little treasures, quaint owls and woodland creatures, a rustic paddle hanging on the wall. I touch the sterling silver shell jewelry box on the side table, run my fingers over the edges. It’s exquisite, shaped like a large clamshell, and obviously an antique. I pick it up and gently open it. In the center a tiny silver pearl is melded to the bottom. The metal is cool under my fingertips. Curious if the shell might be engraved, I turn it over, but the bottom is unmarked except for a small scratch.