A scruffy beard irritates her skin.
I remember the moment I told him that. I felt so stupid saying it, but we were kissing, and the way his whiskers felt against my cheek was taking me out of the moment. He never let his facial hair grow after that.
Come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve seen him with a beard or anything resembling scruff in the years since.
Surely that can’t be because of me.
Can it?
My heart, the shriveled up, dysfunctional tiny lump of coal, sparks and begins to glow red as a warm ember inside my chest. My vision blurs with unshed tears, and before I can think twice, I tap the call button.
Anton answers on the second ring.
“What is all this?” My voice is watery, and I attempt to swallow down my emotion.
He’s quiet for a beat. “You said in the car you weren’t sure what you liked to do these days. You sounded sad about it, so I figured I could help. You liked these things once upon a time. Maybe you still do.”
The fact that he made this list at all, much less still has it after all the time that’s passed and the way I left things with him… “I-I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything.” Anton’s low, steady voice rumbles over the line. I want to curl up in his baritone. “It’s nothing.”
“It’s something to me.”
“Are you…crying?” His voice is strained. “Shoot, Rose. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
“No.” I wipe my nose and force my voice to be even. “I, uh…swallowed a bug.”
What’s one more lie?
“It’s the dead of winter. Bugs should have migrated south by now.”
“Bugs migrate?”
“Yeah, Poe loves butterflies, and he was telling me about how—wait. Are you deflecting?”
I chuckle in spite of myself. “I’m fine, Anton.”
“If you’re sure.” He sounds hesitant. “I just thought this could be a starting point if nothing else. Maybe your tastes have changed, which they’re allowed to do, obviously. I mean, I know nothing about your taste in men these days, but…yeah.”
He’s fishing so hard I can hear him cast the line from here.
Something about that makes my chest ache, because I can hear what he’s not saying.Your taste in men is allowed to change.
What he doesn’t realize is I lied all those years ago when I broke up with him and told him he wasn’t my type. My taste in men is one thing that hasn’t changed. My taste in men is him. Always has been. Always will be. It’s the one thing I know for certain about myself.
But I don’t say that.
Instead, I whisper, “Thank you.”
18
Guys’ Night
Anton