“It’s better than Gigi’s,” I said.
She tilted her head. “What?”
I hesitated. This was the perfect opportunity to tell her I knew Gigi better than I’d let on. That Gigi wanted the two of us to meet, and I was fairly certain she’d brought Devon home for precisely that reason. But I couldn’t do it. I was scared Devon would clam up, and I wanted her to open up to me. It already felt like I was too far gone to bring it up now.
“I mean, it’s the best iced tea I’ve ever had. I don’t see how hers could’ve been better.”
She looked at me skeptically, clearly not buying it.
I doubled down. “I am the world’s foremost authority on iced tea and I hereby declare this is the best.”
She laughed. “You just said you don’t even like tea that much.”
I tilted my head at her. “Precisely why you should believe me.”
Her forehead smoothed out. “I don’t know about that, but I do make a good iced tea.”
I held the glass up to the sun to inspect the contents and collect myself. It was a pretty presentation. The glass itself was clear with yellow bands around it, filled with a good ice-to-tea ratio and a generous lemon round perched on the rim. I shrugged and took another drink, then another, then downed it. “Yes. Yes you do.”
She held her hand out for the glass, but I shook my head and stood. “Hand me yours.”
After a moment’s hesitation, she gave it to me. I returned to the kitchen, filled the glasses with a second round, and met her back on the porch, the screen door thwacking shut as I handed her the tea.
She regarded me with a curious expression. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” I lowered myself into the rocker gingerly, eyeing the rusted nails on the arm rests and making a note to bring my toolbox the next time I visited.
She got quiet, studying the street.
“Did I miss something?”
She huffed a soft laugh. “No. Sorry. It’s been a long time since…since anyone’s done that for me.”
“Gotten you a drink?”
“No,” she answered. “And yes.” She looked away and waved it off. “It’s not a big deal.”
“But it is.”
She took a sip through her straw and I got quiet, thumbing the flaking paint off the rocking chair’s arm. Eventually I said, “My dad died when I was seventeen.”
She faced me.
I focused on the paint flecks. “My mom left six years before that. No explanation. Just, gone. While I was at school. I guess…I wasn’t enough for her to stay.”
“Aaron,” she said softly.
“What I’m saying is, I’ve lost people, too.” I finally met her gaze. “And it’s not the same. I get that. But it hurts. Hurts like hell.” I glanced away. “At least the people you loved actually loved you back.”
She put her hand on mine, stilling it, and waited for me to look at her before speaking. “I’m sorry. We all process grief differently, I guess.”
I threaded my fingers through hers.
“It’s hard to explain,” she continued. “Jason…he was the love of my life. Before coming back, I could forget about him for days, sometimes even a week. But being home…” She met my eyes. “I thought being here was going to be the worst thing that’d I’d experienced since he died. Broken jaw aside,” she said, smiling wryly, “it turns out, maybe I’ve been wrong. But to be honest?”
I held her gaze, stomach tight. This was when she’d tell me that even though she liked me, she didn’t plan on staying. Exactly like my mom, and like every other woman I’d dated. “Honesty is good,” I said.
“I’m confused.”
I breathed out. “Is that good or bad?”
She gave me a half-smile and shrugged, unthreading our hands. “I don’t know.” She gestured between us and continued. “What are we doing?”
I sat back in the chair, my heart doing flip-flops in my chest. “Taking it one step at a time?”
She nodded thoughtfully.
It seemed we were both terrified, just for different reasons. I was half in love with her already, and I had no idea what she was going to do after the six months were up. “No matter what happens, I’m glad to have had time with you. And I hope you keep letting me have it.” My voice was soft as I held her gaze, wanting her to read everything I felt.
She swallowed. Did she know how expressive her eyes were? Every feeling, every hesitation and wonder, every impulse or shot of self-control…her eyes gave her away each time. And right now, they gave me hope.
“You know what we need?” she asked.
I raised my eyebrows. “What?”
“A picture. We should be documenting all the work we’re doing!”
Well, that was one way to climb out of the serious conversation we’d been in. I nodded, wanting to give her whatever she needed.
