Halfway to You(92)

When goose bumps washed over my bare skin, we returned to bed. I nestled my back against Todd’s chest, and his arms encircled me; he bent his knees until they were flush with the backs of mine. He pressed his mouth into the tender spot between my earlobe and collarbone, and I sighed.

But I didn’t sleep. I didn’t want to slip into nothingness while he was holding me like that. We’d been apart enough for me to know when to cherish our togetherness. And unlike in years past, when I found an odd sort of pleasure in the torturous longing of long distance—this time, I dreaded our inevitable parting.

“Do you think,” Todd said slowly, “that you could ever forgive me?”

My eyebrows creased. “Honestly, I’m not sure there’s anything to forgive.”

“There’s plenty,” he countered.

I considered all the things he’d done to protect his grief and guilt—the evasiveness, the secrets. How were they any different from my own shortcomings?

He had kept me at an emotional distance, but I had kept him at a physical one. The truth was, opening up to Todd was easier when he was thousands of miles away; I couldn’t witness him screw up if he was in another country. And I expected him to screw up. I expected everyone I loved to screw up, just as my parents had. The problem with expecting people to hurt you is that you’re constantly looking for a reason to be proven right, and you forget all the instances you’re proven wrong.

“I don’t want to think about it,” I said. By then, we both had so much to be sorry about—as far as I was concerned, we were even. “I only want to think about how good your arms feel around me.”

He grazed my skin with his lips and squeezed me closer.

“When did you know you loved me?” Todd asked after a while.

“Venice,” I said without hesitation.

“Venice?”

“You sound surprised.”

“Not Greece? Or when I came to Rome?”

“It’s Venice and you know it.”

He chuckled. “Well, when exactly? What moment?”

“Why?”

I felt his smile form against my neck. “I want to know if your answer is the same as mine.”

I shifted, trading our puzzle-piece position for one where I faced him, with the heat of his breath on my face and his bare chest against mine. “You loved me in Venice?”

“Of course I did.”

I looked into his eyes. “I knew it when you took my picture,” I answered. “I was so . . . content just being with you on that bridge.”

He kissed me firmly.

“What about you?”

“It was the moment you asked me to sit down.”

“What? No,” I said, pushing his chest with my hand.

“I remember seeing you and thinking, Wow, look at her. The way the sunlight hit your hair and your skin glistened with just a touch of sweat.”

“That’s lust at first sight.”

“I wasn’t done.” He nudged my nose with his. “You seemed so bold to invite me to your table. Both generous and brave. Alluring and self-assured. It captivated me, flustered me. When you asked me to sit, I felt blessed.”

I didn’t recognize the woman he described. I had been anxious and self-conscious. I had been desperately lonely and profoundly glum. Asking him to sit had been an act of survival. But I didn’t correct his words. Instead, I took his bottom lip and bit down ever so gently, the way I knew he liked. I bit down until he groaned.

“You like that answer?” he whispered against my mouth.

I nodded. It explained so much about that day. If he had felt that way about me almost immediately . . . “No wonder you pushed me away,” I said. How could he grieve Penny and fall in love with a stranger?

He cupped my cheek. “I’m so glad you followed me to Greece,” he said. “So, so glad.”

We dozed through the blackest hours of the morning, then woke early and placed an order for room service. As the sun rose, so did my worry. I was set to take the red-eye that evening. Then I would be back in Rome, and Todd would be back in Colorado, and . . .

“Everything okay?” Todd appraised me from the desk, where he was pouring coffee and unwrapping our breakfast. “You look tense.”

I nodded, but it was half-hearted.

“Come on,” he said, carrying the food tray to the bed.

I met his sea-storm eyes. He wasn’t wearing his glasses, and it felt like the partition between us was down. “I fly out tonight.”

He blinked away and sipped his coffee.

“Where do we go from here?”

“I don’t know. I want to figure this out.”

“Me too.”

“I’m not sure my feelings have changed.”

I didn’t know exactly what he meant, and I was afraid to ask. Long distance had been an emotional crutch, but that didn’t change the fact that Rome was home. Here we were again, facing the same blockade. I felt like I was pressing my palms into a wall, searching for a secret lever, a hidden knob, a trapdoor.

“I want to find a good compromise,” Todd said, “but I’m out of ideas.”

My mind fumbled along the wall, searching.

A knock came, startling us both. Todd stood and unlatched the door.

Keith was in the hall. His gaze swept from Todd to me, still nestled in bed with the breakfast tray. He rolled his eyes. “Jesus, I can’t keep up with you two.” He pushed past Todd into the room, and Todd allowed the door to click shut.