Unbreak My Heart(28)

“I’m Holland.” I offer my hand.

He shakes. “I’m Mike. And it’s nice to meet Andrew’s girl.” He wiggles his eyebrows at Andrew and returns to his food prep.

I don’t correct him. I’m not his girl. But in many ways, I suppose I am.

Instead, I tell Andrew, “You should reach out to your sister and ask her.”

“I should, and I will.”

Mike hands me the fish and rice bowl, and I thank him.



*

We wander through the market, stopping in little stalls selling teacups and chopsticks, plates and fans.

Andrew points to a display of sapphire-blue square plates in every size from about one square inch to large enough to hold two Thanksgiving turkeys.

“This.” He lifts the tiniest one. “Is this for when I’m not very hungry but just want, say, one blueberry?”

I laugh and grab the next size up. “This is obviously for a pat of butter.”

“But just one pat,” he says in mock seriousness.

“Of course. With one of those cool scalloped designs in it.”

“Do you ever wonder how someone learns to do that?”

“Become a butter sculptor? I’ve actually never thought about that. Do you think you need to go to art school?”

“Probably, unless there are butter sculptor schools.”

“I suspect the butter sculpting academies also teach ice sculpture.”

We meander into the next stall and check out the vast array of fans. As I flick open a pastel-green one with a sparrow design, I turn to him, fanning my face. “Should I get a parasol to go with it?”

“Yes, and then try and use both with a straight face.”

“That would be impossible.”

We make our way around the shopping area, like we’re exploring together. Which we are, and we aren’t. Tokyo is foreign to me, yet it’s also my home.

But here with Andrew, the man I once wanted to see the world with, this feels like something we were always meant to do.

Something we once daydreamed about.

One afternoon during the summer we were together, I was lolling around in his pool, floating on a raft as I glided over to him. He hung by the side of the water, elbows on the ledge, sunglasses on because it was high noon, with the kind of heat that made you feel like you’d been baking from the inside out. I pushed his shades on top of his head and said, “Let’s go to Fiji.”

“Let’s go to Tahiti.”

“Bali.”

“How about the Cook Islands? It’s practically off the map.”

“The Maldives.”

“Seychelles.”

I splashed water on him. “Now you’re just showing off.”

“The Maldives? I think you might be showing off too.”

“I was just trying to impress you. Geography was my best subject. I can totally name all fifty states. Just try me.”

He pulled me off the raft and brought me up against his hot, hard body. “It’ll make me want you even more,” he joked, even though he seemed to want me a helluva lot right then.

“Do you know how long I’ve liked you, Andrew Peterson?”

“No. How long?”

I spread my arms as wide as they could go. “This long.”

“That’s a long time to harbor a crush, Holland St. James.”

My nerves skittered, but I kept them at bay. I was going to say the word—the word that was so hard to say when real life gave us a timeline that my heart didn’t want to match. The word that meant everything.

“Not just a crush, Andrew. I’m in love with you.”

He smiled, slow and happy, his eyes sparkling. “I’m so in love with you.”

The guy I loved, loved me. My greatest dream was coming true. My greatest dream would soon end, since I was going away, but in that moment, I let myself revel in the bliss. “I’ve been in love with you for so long.”

We kissed gently, and we kissed feverishly, and when we pulled apart, his hands were on my hips, my bikini top was gone, and we were about to figure out if pool sex would work. “I want to go to all those places with you.”

“I’ll take you there. I’ll take you wherever you want to go.”

“Take me anywhere, Andrew.”

Now, here we are, anywhere.

The memory rushes over me, spilling into the present, mingling with who we are now, on the other side of pain.

We’re those same people, but we’re so very different too.

And still, we’re talking, joking, teasing, wandering, figuring things out. We’re anywhere together, and for a few moments, this feels like part of the healing.

It’s a healing we both need—from the years apart. From the number that time and distance did on our one-time greatest dreams.

We explore more stalls then wind up on the outskirts of the market where vending machines line the concrete walls. I stop at one peddling mango, pineapple, and grape chewy candy.

“I love these,” I say as I peruse the offerings.

“Let me guess. Grape?”

Nodding, I reach into my pocket for change.

He wraps his hand over mine and shakes his head. “Allow me. A gentleman always pays for vending machine candy.”

“Ooh, that is the height of chivalry.”