Page 18 of The Now in Forever

E d walks to the bar sipping his beer. He motions to the stool next to me. “Mind if I sit?”

I shrug.

“Kyle closed the patio.”

“Probably worried about the storm.”

Ed runs his hands along the bar, the tattoos on his knuckles drawing my attention. “So far, it’s just a little wind.”

“A little?” I laugh. “It nearly blew me down the street when I was walking here. If I’d had an umbrella, I would’ve Mary Poppinsed right out of here.”

Ed laughs. The lights flicker, and he stops laughing abruptly. “Shit.”

I sip my drink in an attempt to calm my nerves. “It’s just a summer storm. We’ll be fine. Right?”

Ed nods. “Yeah, sure.”

The lights sputter again then go completely out. There are a few cheers and a couple of boos from the crowd.

Kyle clears his throat, but it does nothing to quiet the chatter. He rings a bell hanging on the wall loudly. “Folks. We have to close. Please finish your drinks quickly and go home. Be safe. ”

Ed puts his beer on the counter, the aluminum making a hollow along as he does.

Kyle comes over to me. “Are you going to be okay? If you stick around, I can walk you home.”

I’m flattered that Kyle is concerned. This whole bar is full of people, and he’s worried about me getting home safely. It feels good. “I’ll be fine. We’re walking together. What about my tab?”

Kyle shrugs. “Come back, pay it later.”

I smile. “Okay.”

Once we’re outside, the wind whips my hair from my face.

I squint so sand doesn’t get in my eyes.

But I can feel it smacking against my legs in swirls.

Walking feels like pushing against a heavy door.

The light is odd too. It’s a bright golden yellow with dark gray, almost black clouds so heavy they look like suspended mountains, unmovable rocks.

Then the sky opens up, and rain pours down, soaking into my heavy cardigan, dripping down my legs.

We run the rest of the way, but it’s no use. We are both soaked.

I get inside, and then Ed shuts the door behind us. The lights are all off. The power’s out here too.

Brushing off my legs, I shrug out of my cardigan, heavy and waterlogged and smelling a lot like a wet dog. The storm has made it a good ten degrees colder, and the house isn’t providing much warmth. The rain is so loud, it sounds like it’s inside. It dawns on me. “The windows.”

“I’ll check downstairs.”

“I’ll go upstairs,” I say, jogging up the hardwood steps. I stop at the hall closet and grab a towel, drying my hair off.

I shut the open window on the landing and use the towel to wipe up the droplets that got in. I peek into Ed’s room—the windows are closed up tight.

There is a window cracked in what will be Anh and Melissa’s room when they come this weekend. My bedroom has the last window to close, the one by my desk. I throw on a dry sweatshirt and some leggings, feeling a little warmer.

Downstairs, Ed has been busy. Lit candles are all around the room, and a couple flashlights are on the coffee table.

There is a blanket on the floor by the stone hearth with a bottle of wine, two glasses, a plate of saltines, a small tub of cream cheese, and a knife.

Ed is crouched at the fireplace, his T-shirt stretched tight across his strong shoulders.

“All closed up.”

Ed turns, flames jumping behind him, and smiles. “Great.”

I motion to the spread. “Fancy.”

He takes a corkscrew to the wine. “Crackers and cream cheese. Can’t beat it. Care to join me?”

I cross the room to sit on the blanket. With each step closer, my heart beats that much faster in my chest. It’s the same green and black–striped Mexican blanket from that day.

Ed notices my hesitation. “I can see if there’re other snacks if you’re not into cream cheese. I looked, but there weren't any Takis.”

I laugh and sit, running my fingers over the familiar texture. “Crackers are fine. Where’d you get this blanket?”

“I’ve had it forever. I always take it to the beach.”

He hands me a glass of wine; it glows a shimmering ruby red in the firelight. The rain smacks against the window. Wood crackles in the hearth. It would all be so romantic if I could stop thinking about ten years ago. Does he remember our time on this blanket before?

“How’s your book going?” I ask, trying to jar myself out of this funk.

“So-so. I added in a murder, but I think I may have to start over. Something about it feels off.”

I know what he means. It’s like this cozy little picnic.

It should be fun, exciting, idyllic even, but something is off.

The conversation is stilted, moving in odd ebbs and flows.

All I keep thinking about is the last time we were on this blanket together.

I run my hand along the soft fibers, and I can almost feel tiny grains of sand on it.

Oh, I actually do. I stare out at the rain streaming down the windows, putting me here now and not back on that clear summer night.

“How’s your writing?”

I tear my eyes away from the rain-streaked windows to Ed’s face. Dark stubble covers his strong jaw. It’s so rough, such a contrast to his soft pink lips. His face is a study in contradictions. His fingers are playing with a stray thread from the blanket, still always moving.

“It’s okay. I’ve digested some of your notes and made some changes. But I started something new, something different.”

“Oh, really?” Ed scoots a little closer to me on the blanket.

“It’s a love story. Trapped in time.”

“Ooh, trapped in time? That sounds intriguing.”

I tilt my head. “I think it will be. Hopefully. We’ll see. I haven’t plotted it out, which in itself is new for me.”

Ed nods knowingly. “Ahh, you’re a plotter.”

I laugh. “And you’re a pantser.”

Ed sings out in a vibrating old timey voice, “Let’s call the whole thing off.”

Grabbing a pillow from the couch behind me, I half lie on the blanket, feeling more comfortable.

“Why did you decide to change your process?” Ed asks, lying down too.

“The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result, right? If I’ve plotted every single novel I’ve ever written and never finished one to a place where I feel it’s good enough, then maybe it’s time to switch it up.”

Ed nods, setting his wine down, looking deep into my eyes. “Why haven’t you ever felt like one of your stories is good enough?”

I sigh and lie back. “You know that uber critical voice in your head you need for editing? It’s like I get stuck there, and all I can see is the story’s flaws. Then I think of a new idea and start a new book.”

“Yeah, I get that. That voice never shuts off for me.”

My stomach sinks at the thought of that. “Ever?”

“No. I thought it would once I got an agent. But it didn’t. Then I thought once I got a book deal.” He shakes his head. “I just keep moving the bar. Maybe someday it’ll feel like I did something right?”

A stray hair falls into my face, and Ed moves it, his closeness making my heart hammer in my chest. The fire crackles. Ed’s hand lingers, moving along my cheek, down to the back of my neck. His touch is electric .

I lean forward, and so does he, the moment stretching like saltwater taffy warmed by the sun. He runs his tongue lightly along the edge of his lips, and a loud crack of thunder startles us both. Ed knocks over his wine on the hardwood floor. “Shit.”

He jumps up and runs toward the kitchen, and I lie back, feeling everything all at once, my heart still beating wildly.

I want Ed. I want his lips on mine, but that’s not all.

I want him on top of me, inside me—to what end?

This is probably just a rainy-day distraction for him.

He’ll leave, and I’ll think about it for the next decade.

Compare other men to him for years to come.

Ed strides back with a paper towel and wipes up the wine, a few tiny drops splashed on the blanket. I hope they stain. Then every time he uses this blanket, he’ll have to remember this night.

He sits back down, upright this time. I sit up too, taking a sip of my wine, trying not to show how stung I am he didn’t lie down and go right back to where we were.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.” I grip my wineglass in my hand, the cool surface grounding me.

“Are you and the bartender seeing each other?”

A laugh bubbles out of me, even though it’s not particularly funny. “No, I’m not dating anyone.”

He traces the mouth of his empty glass. “It’s none of my business. It’s not even what I wanted to ask. It just popped out.”

“What do you want to ask?”

Ed looks up, the fire lighting up his green eyes. “Hattie, how long are we going to pretend like we don’t know each other?”