He couldn’t hide the disappointment. He didn’t even try.
“Come on,” he said with a little pained smile, taking myhand again.
He pulled me across the front lawn and toward the backyardgate, and if I had closed my eyes, I could have taken myself back to all thosemoments from our shared childhood when he had performed that very act countlesstimes. His hand was more callused now, rougher to the touch and so much larger,but it was still his hand clasped around mine.
God, what I would have given for a time machine.
The gate opened, and he pulled me through, closing itbehind us.
“Patrick,” I whispered. “My parents are home.”
“I know,” he said, leading me through the garden andtowards the old swing set. “They won’t bother us.”
“Why not?”
“Because they know we’re here.”
“What? You talked to my parents about this?”
“Part of the plan,Kins.”
Sneaky Irish bastard.
He sat down on one of the swings, wincing at the creakingof the wooden frame. “Christ, have I gained weight?”
I unsuccessfully fought my laughter. “Yeah, I’d say you’rea little heavier than you were twelve years ago.”
He rubbed his stomach. “Jeez,Kins,are yousayin’ I’m fat?”
The guy was little more than lean muscle strapped to asix-foot-three frame, and I rolled my eyes. “Yes, Patrick. You’re a house.”
“It’s all those sandwiches you’ve beenfeedin’me.”
I cocked my hip and tilted my head. “You didn’thaveto come to the deli every goddamn day for two years.”
His eyes met mine, holding me and pulling me in. “Yes, Idid.”
“No, you didn’t.” My voice was a whisper against the summerair and crickets.
“How else was I supposed to see you?”
I swallowed. “You didn’thaveto see me.”
The corner of his mouth curled upward into a gut-wrenchingsmile. “Yeah, I did,Kins.”
Patrickinney, whydid I ever let you go?
Then, freeing me from his gaze, he cleared his throat andpushed his long legs out to get some momentum going. The swing set screamed inagony. “God, I might actually break this thing. If I do, will you catch me?”
“If you fall, you’re on your own, pal.”
“Kinsey, I’ll probably break something. A hip, maybe. Ihope you’ll at least call an ambulance, unlessyaplan oncarryin’ me out of here.”
“You have a phone. Call an ambulance yourself.”
“What if I can’t get at it? Are yougonnareach into my pocket, and grab it for me?”
“I’m not reaching into any of your pockets and grabbinganything.” I laughed, scraping my teethover my lower lip at the thought.
