Unbreak My Heart(10)

Then we moved to the sofa as we strolled down memory lane, all that talking like a slow dance bringing us closer together.

“Or how about all the times they’d send us to the store for something?” I’d asked. “And once we slipped away to a coffee shop?”

He inched closer to me, and I stared at his arms—I was such a sucker for strong arms, for his arms. “Those were the best lattes I’d ever had,” he said, his voice a little husky.

I moved closer too, going quieter. “What about the time I found a possum in the house?”

He’d stared at me. “Tonight?”

My heart skated circles in my chest. “Yes, tonight.”

Every breath was magic in the night air because I knew every breath would bring me closer to him.

“Did you plant a possum under your couch, Holland?”

“No. But I’m glad it was here.”

He lifted his hand, fingering a strand of my hair. This was going to happen. This was real. “Are you glad I’m here?”

“Yes.” My arms were around his neck, and my lips were on his, and all those years of attraction combusted.

His lips were soft, his jaw was stubbled, and his body was hard. Kissing him on my couch was better than I’d ever imagined. Worlds, moons, suns, and stars better, and there were so many times I’d imagined it.

With his perfect body pressed against mine, my mind was soaring and my whole body was humming.

It was the best summer of my life.

Leaving him was the hardest thing I’d ever done, but my parents made it clear—I’d earned a scholarship for nursing school in Tokyo on account of us having lived there and me speaking the language. Anyplace else I went wouldn’t be covered. Plus, they’d relocated back to Japan, choosing to retire in Kyoto. They loved the expat community and the culture, and I wanted to be near them.

I also wanted to be a nurse more than anything, so I moved around the globe, and I said goodbye to the first guy I’d ever loved.

The only guy I’ve ever loved.

We’re finally in the same county, and if I’m only here for a little while, I don’t want to waste any time. He might have turned down my lasagna invite, but I’m determined to see him again. He’s the person I’ve always liked spending my days with, and even though I don’t know where I’m going—if I’ll land a job in Los Angeles or San Francisco, Seattle or Japan again—I don’t want to miss a chance to see him.

I don’t have a grand plan for us to get back together—I’d just rather be with him than without him right now. When I’m at the Promenade to pick up the new Kristin Hannah book, I contemplate inviting him to see a movie or grab a bite to eat, when I spot a pair of robots arguing.

Well, a guy painted in silver who does robot moves is arguing with a guy covered in gold.

“This is my turf,” the silvery one spits out.

With avid eyes, I watch, then I grab my phone and hit the record button.

“Yeah? Where’s the sign that says it belongs to you?”

“Everyone knows you don’t infringe on another robot’s territory.”

The gold guy parks his hands on his hips. “Make. Me. Move.”

Whoa.

Maybe it’s time for me to hightail it back into the bookstore. But before I turn around, a cop breaks up the almost fight.

Cop. Possum. Robots.

I’m not saying they’re connected. But Andrew would seriously get a kick out of a turf war on the Santa Monica Promenade.

I call him.

He answers immediately with a hey.

“Did you ever study property rights or squatter’s rights or whatever you call that in law school?”

He laughs. “Yes, I did.”

“I think your services might be needed, then, at the Promenade. That is, if you can handle robots for clients. The silver robot dude was really pissed at the gold one.”

“Was the gold one pushing all his buttons?”

I laugh, and so does he.

“I have video. Seriously, the police were called, but no street performers were harmed.” I pause, not wanting this conversation to end. No time like the present. “Hey, since you turned down my lasagna invitation, I won’t take no for an answer to having lunch with me. That awesome sandwich shop that slathers everything in sriracha is calling our names.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah, can’t you hear it?” I turn my voice echo-y. “Andrew, come have a sriracha-covered turkey panini with Holland.”

More laughter comes my way. “I’ll be there in thirty.”

As I head to the sandwich shop, I say a silent thank you to the robots, like I did to the possum years ago.





7





Andrew



I find Holland at an outdoor table, big brown sunglasses pushed up on her head. The sun is bright, but she’s not shielding her eyes. She wears a green skirt I swear she wore when we went to the movies three years ago and barely watched a scene on the screen.

My hands have been up that skirt. My fingers know the fabric and how it feels against her skin. They itch to get reacquainted.

I can smell lemon-sugar lotion on her too. Her scent will be my downfall. My blood heats as I sit next to her.

“Don’t mind me. I’m baking,” she says, and tilts her face to the sun. She closes her eyes and soaks in the rays, and I have free rein to look at her—at her neck, her throat, her shoulders, since she’s only wearing a tank top. I want to watch her, lick her, kiss her.