Page 52 of His Last Shot

We Wouldn’t Want to Make Her Blush

Rachel they are our family.

The solidarity Micah and I felt when they stopped going once we left meant so much to us.

But obviously, they needed a new watering hole, so instead of the bar, they came to Micah’s every night. I join in when I can.

But losing Johnny was the worst part. And now, out of nowhere, he’s standing right next to me. My heart is fluttering, my palms are sweaty, and my head is hot with anxiety.

In my imagination, if I ever saw Johnny again, I’d be the picture of beauty, looking hot, of course.

My hair and makeup would have been pristine.

We’d make eye contact, then, in slow motion, I would glide toward him with stunning grace and beauty.

Naturally, he would be captivated. Our reunion would have been epic and memorable.

A story we would tell again and again to our grandchildren as they roll their eyes, tired of hearing it.

Instead, this is our big moment. Full of cheese and day-old underwear.

When I saw him at the funeral, it took every ounce of self-control I had to not run over to him and thrust myself into his arms. But fear gripped my soul.

And it still does.

Which is why I haven’t contacted him. However, it’s like the decision is being made for me because, as I buy the ingredients to make tacos on a random Tuesday, he’s here.

And the fact he offered his condolences for a man he hated shows what a kind and good person he really is.

I release a puff of nervous energy while dragging my gaze to the rows of bagged cheese for self-control. “I’m sorry I haven’t contacted you yet.”

His face is stiff yet soft, concerned. “Why didn’t you?” he asks. Our eyes collide, seizing under our mutual anticipation. “After the funeral, I thought that maybe—”

“I was afraid.”

Cocking his head to the side, he steps forward as his assessment glows with a mixture of heat and affection. His closeness is doing a number on my body. The toe goosebumps return. His calloused hand gently cups my cheek, and I lean into the familiar roughness of his skin.

We touch.

I melt.

Five years float away as his fingers brush my skin, a rush of warmth like heaven .

A feather-light stroke against my cheek from his hand causes his breath to catch a silent acknowledgment of this moment.

“You don’t have to be afraid anymore,” he whispers, his thumb rubbing lightly.

“I have you. Scott, Laura, Jake, and Mallory are all safe. Dexter is gone. He can’t hurt us anymore. ”

His lips purse into a tight smile, and he drops his hand.

The heat from his touch disappears, and it’s almost as if I scalded him with boiling water as he takes a step backward, and the mood shifts.

Opening his mouth just a fraction, he presses his lips together, his gaze landing on the polished floor. “Or maybe that’s not what you want.”

Johnny has always been a man who exudes copious amounts of confidence. But now, he’s a man who is doubting everything he thought he knew about us. And I can’t blame him. We’ve been apart for five years, haven’t seen each other for a year and a half. A lot can change.

But for me, nothing has changed.

Well, except for me.

I’m not the same sheepish, unsure-of-herself woman Johnny first met. I’ve moved on in so many ways. From the insecurities my RA inflicted on me, my deep-seated fears that I was unlovable. All of that faded and morphed into me becoming strong, independent, and resilient.

But the love I have for Johnny never budged.

Never bobbled.

Never waived.

It was strong, unshakable. Like a sail, pushing me forward against whatever high wind life threw at me. He was always there. Always present.

But after the funeral, I was afraid. Afraid that he had moved on. Or that we weren’t safe, even though I knew any and all threats were gone. But also, I took these three months to get my plan in motion. One I can’t wait to tell him about.

“Johnny,” I plead, my fingers interlacing with his as I draw his hand to mine, imploring him to look at me. When his name tumbles from my lips, our eyes connect, a spark igniting between us. “I want that more than I have wanted anything in my whole life. ”

His shoulders sag with relief, and his cheeks flush, which is quite possibly the cutest thing I have ever seen. But then, his face morphs as his lips curl into an evil smirk. “I don’t want our reunion to be in front of the Colby Jack.”

“Or in front of that sweet old lady over there.” I gesture to the elderly woman, trying to decide what kind of cottage cheese to buy.

He leans forward and exhales against my ear. “We wouldn’t want to make her blush now, would we?” Every nerve ending in my body is buzzing. He pulls back, and our faces are mere inches apart, his stare holding hotly to mine, torture coiling around his features.

Why? Why am I seeing him for the first time in five years at the grocery store? Because all I want to do is hoist myself into his arms, Bachelorette style.

“Meet me under the stars? Usual spot and time?” He hesitates, searching my face. “It’s going to be a clear night tonight.”

He adds this in as if it will help convince me. I made up my mind the moment he spoke to me.

“I’ll be there.” A soft smile forms as his eyes skate over my collarbone and land on the star pendant. He reaches out and touches it, his thumb sweeping over the delicate star.

“You got it?” His voice is a mere whisper.