Page 42 of Anywhere with You

The sky was almost dark when Cara said she should be getting home.

I didn’t argue, not because I didn’t want to, but because I didn’t know how to ask her to stay without sounding needy.

I’d told her I was okay in my new apartment alone, and I was.

I didn’t need her to stay and keep me company.

I had Badger, who had wiggled himself halfway under a pile of throw pillows and fallen asleep.

When Cara left, I stood at the door, wondering at the empty, aching sensation that started in my chest and radiated outward. It was so unexpected that it took me a minute to identify the feeling.

I missed her. That was all. I just missed her.

I missed her smile and her criticism of my towels and her newfound enjoyment of every experience. I missed the sound of her voice and the way she rolled her eyes at my jokes. I missed every minute we’d had and every minute we should’ve had and every minute we could still, maybe, have together.

I kept thinking that we could be, that we should be friends.

I’d walked out on her, accused and abandoned her. She said she’d forgiven me. She said we could be friends.

That should be enough, shouldn’t it? To be friends with Cara Espinoza, I’d be the luckiest person in the world.

I was attracted to her, of course, but I could manage that, shove it down deep and bury it like healthy people probably don’t do.

But I thought that was an option. I thought I would need time to wrap my mind around everything that had happened and to find my imaginary happy place where I’d accepted the past and was ready to move on.

I’d thought it would be good for me to focus on my business and this new stage in my life before I considered a real relationship.

I’d thought that she would be okay, and I was right. She was fine. She was happy.

But I’d also thought the same about me, that my life would be okay, with or without her.

And I was wrong.

The thought was staggering.

I was wrong.

I’d been so wrong. I’d misunderstood my own heart so completely that I was still standing at my own apartment door, my hands clenched, my heart pounding, my eyes filling with tears.

Would she even want me? Could I take the risk and ask her, or would it be better not to even try?

I put my hands against the door, then my forehead.

And I remembered her at White Sands, running past me, laughing, on her way back up to the top. I remembered her making ridiculous poses with alien mannequins, walking in awe through the cave dwellings, sitting as close to the edge of the Grand Canyon as she dared.

I remembered her at the hot springs, oh how I remembered her there, rivulets of water running down her skin, and the way she’d stepped toward me in the dark and kissed me: the most beautiful woman, the most romantic place, the most sensuous kiss of my life.

My Cara. I had fallen in love with her so deeply, so completely, that I might never find my way out again.

And now that I knew I loved her, the risk of saying the wrong thing seemed so much worse than staying silent. I had to tell her, and I had to do it before the fear caught up to me.

I took another deep breath.

And I opened the door.