For a second, we just look at each other. Neither of us speaks.
This would be the moment, in one of my scripts, where he says how much he’s missed me.
But he doesn’t. He looks away.
I remind myself that the beats of romance are narrative devices. Not real.
“So,” I make myself say. “What have you been up to for the last year?”
He blows out a breath, very obviously grateful that I changed the subject. “Oh, you know. Working. Doing yoga. Sitting around in my lake house listening to Cat Stevens and crying.”
“Sounds healthy.”
He nods. “Yeah, well, I’ve been working through some stuff. Meditating. Writing in my journal.”
He says it like he’s telling me a secret.
“Oh?” I ask. “Anything about me?”
He nods.
“Most of it.”
I swallow.
“Like what?”
“Like how much I miss you.”
I stare at him.
I can’t believe it.
He’s doing the romance beat.
“Like how much I regret always being in the wrong place at the wrong time,” he continues.
He squeezes my hand. I can barely breathe.
“Are you single, Molly?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I whisper.
“Good,” he whispers back.
He moves in and puts the faintest trace of a kiss on my cheek. Out of the corner of my eye I see his brother through the glass doors, and I blush. Dave isn’t looking at us, but still, I don’t want to be spotted.
“Not here,” I say.
I grab Seth’s arm and lead him down the terrace steps. A few hundred feet away there’s a cluster of banyan trees. They’re eerie in the fading light, casting shadows across the grass. We walk through the grove made by their trunks to a picnic table in a clearing under a canopy of hanging roots. We can still hear the band and the murmur of conversation, but we’re hidden from the party.
I sit down on top of the picnic table and Seth comes and stands in front of me, his shins pressed against mine.
I open my legs to make room and pull him toward me. His kiss is soft andtastes like lemon. It’s sweet, and slow, and it reminds me of the way we kissed in high school, in the early days of our relationship, before we knew what we were doing. I felt so drawn to him and yet so clumsy. So afraid of getting it wrong that I almost didn’t want to risk it.
I feel that way now.
I pull away.
