years ago and I won’t do it now.”
“But he ruined your life.”
“My life isn’t over, Liz. I have a lot of life left in me. And maybe Sam and I aren’t compatible and it wasn’t meant to be,” I say and nod at the door. “But I’m going to be polite and catch up with him. Text me if you need me.”
She sniffles again. “Okay.”
I hurry into the kitchen, grab the wine, and on the way out, I put on a large sweater to cover my tee shirt. If I fully change, he’ll notice. At least the big sweater suits, it’s still cold out. Almost like mother nature is trying to keep us inside. Carrying the wine and my glass, I walk out and prepare myself for the most awkward conversation I’ve ever had.
I am grateful as hell that I put on makeup for my Zoom meeting this morning, and I knock on his door.
He opens it straightaway like he was waiting.
“Hi.” Is the smile too wide? Or is a happy greeting how you arrive at the door of the guy whose heart you broke.
“Hey.” He grins back and I stare at the dimple. It’s always been my favorite feature. Maybe second favorite. He has incredibly sexy hands. It’s a weird thing to think about while he’s standing here but it’s Sam. God, I missed his face.
“Lil?”
My cheeks flush with color when I realize he’s said something I’ve missed.
“Sorry?” I ask, wishing I could take back the last five seconds.
His grin turns to a chuckle, and I suspect he is aware I’m daydreaming about him. “I said, ‘Come on in.’”
“Thanks. Your place is nice.” I hope he doesn’t notice the sweat forming on my forehead as I overanalyze every second of this interaction. “I only caught a glimpse of it that day with the TV.”
“Right, of course. That stunt had a real Home Alone flair to it.” He goes into the kitchen to get himself a glass. “You can go out on the deck and make yourself at home.”
“Okay.” My stomach does flip-flops as I cross the room to the French doors and sit in one of the gorgeous chairs next to a small propane firepit that’s already lit. Music is playing softly out here. “Sexy Thing” by Hot Chocolate. I wonder if he knows this is the song I sing to myself when I have to exercise or do something requiring exertion.
What am I doing?
Is this a mistake?
It feels like a mistake.
Panic sets in when he too comes out to the large deck and sits.
“It’s been so long. Must be fifteen years.”
“Sixteen in August,” I say, regretting it. Does he know the exact day we last saw one another?
“I guess it was what, mid-August?” He places the cup down and I fill it up.
“Mid-August,” I confirm as I pour myself a smaller glass and lift it to my lips. He watches, staring in a way I’m sure he sees me noticing. I’d give everything except my cat to know what he’s thinking.
Does he hate me a bit still?
“So what’s the protocol here? Do we go year by year to update one another or should we do a brief recount of the highlights only?” he asks as he takes a drink of his wine. He’s exactly the same as I recall. Confident and cocky while being kind and funny. Only now there is a glint of something in his eyes. Experience and wisdom perhaps.
This time when his stare meets mine, he holds it, forcing me to make eye contact with him, and I realize he is perilous for a vulnerable woman like me in the middle of a life-altering change.
Adding the fact I know he’s an amazing kisser doesn’t help my predicament.
“Lil?”
“Sorry?” I ask again, realizing I’ve missed something else.
“It doesn’t matter. To neighbors.” He holds up the glass, not bothering to contain his humor at me and my daydreaming. I must look insane.
Forcing a pleasant expression, I lift my glass and clink it delicately against his, certain I’ve lived this moment before. “To neighbors,” I mutter. We sip the wine slowly.
“So what’s new?”
“New?” I lift my eyebrows and toy with the word. “Not old? Because sixteen years is a long time,” I reply cheekily. “Hmmm. Quarantine is new. How’s it at the hospital?” I change the subject from me.
“Slow but we’re ready. Just in case but I think we’ll coast through. We have a perfect dynamic here. Low population. What we do have isn’t dense. Lots of fresh air