Chapter
eighteen

Did the introvert in you need a vacation from the party?” Britt sometimes preferred to ease into difficult conversations the way she eased into too-hot bath water. Slowly.

“I don’t have the stamina for that many hours of socializing in a row.”

“I know.” She sat next to Zander on the bench. They gazed at the garden while the things they weren’t saying gathered shape and mass.

“I’m overly protective of you,” he said. “I shouldn’t have come down on you the way I did for changing your plans that night at the club and leaving with Reid.”

“I shouldn’t have changed my plans after I’d been drinking.”

“I should have resisted the urge to lecture you.”

“I should have taken your lecturing on the chin.”

“Forgive me?” he asked.

“Yes. Forgive me?”

“Yes.”

The pressure surrounding them did not lessen. On the contrary. It intensified.

Zander had more to say. Zander had worse to say.

Fear ran ghostly fingertips down Britt’s spine.

The music from the reception was much softer here, but still audible thanks to the French doors that had been left open. A new song began and Britt recognized its opening bars. “Alone,” by Heart.

Zander held out a hand. “May I have this dance?”

“You may.” She placed her hand in his and kicked off her shoes. The cool grass felt like heaven against the soles of feet that weren’t used to wearing a new pair of heels for five hours straight. They swayed together. Her, in a romantic dress that gleamed from beneath her unbuttoned coat. Him, in his suit.

Whenever she’d been between boyfriends at a time when a formal high school dance had rolled around, the two of them had gone together. In fact, they’d been each other’s dates to prom their senior year of high school. She’d worn a jade green gown that, in retrospect, had been seriously ill-advised. He’d been such a good sport that he’d worn a jade green cummerbund and bow tie to match.

They’d danced just the way they were now too many times to count. Normally, they talked or laughed or sang along. Tonight, the lack of conversation or laughter or singing created a tense void.

The band reached the song’s chorus: “Till now, I always got by on my own.”

Zander’s hair was slightly shiny and perfectly in place, which meant he’d used gel for the occasion. He’d shaved his hard cheeks smooth. His eyes reminded her of midnight lagoons.

“I’m worried about what I need to tell you.” Lines grooved Zander’s forehead. “I haven’t said anything yet. And already, I’m worried.”

“Just go ahead and say whatever you need to.” Honestly! She couldn’t take much more of this.

He ducked his head in a nod, broke contact with her, and took a few steps back. His jacket separated as his hands pushed defensively into the pockets of his pants. They studied each other, two old friends whose relationship had grown complicated.

“I love you,” he said. His vision did not waver from hers.

Astonishment and elation and concern slammed into her simultaneously, rendering her mute.

“I have always loved you,” he said. “I don’t think that fact comes as a surprise to you. Does it?”

She blinked at him, trying to acclimate.

“I have always loved you,” he’d said.

“I . . .” She didn’t know how to frame her response because his declarations were both shocking and—after her conversations with her sisters and Maddie—not shocking. They were both.

“It’s not that I feel deserving of your love,” he continued. “I don’t. I accept that you don’t love me back, and I even regret my feelings for you because if they didn’t exist, then we could go on being friends for a long time. But they do exist, so I’m struggling to continue doing . . .” He motioned between them. “This.”

“What do you mean by ‘this’?” she asked with false calm. Fiasco! She knew the answer to her question.

“Our friendship. Before I went away I was better able to deal with my emotions. We were friends, and friends was better than nothing because I had you in my life and because our friendship was great. But since I returned, my emotions have been making me miserable.”

He’d said that he loved her. Then followed that up by informing her that she was making him miserable. “What are you suggesting?”

“I don’t know what I’m suggesting.”

“That we end our friendship?” The two of them did not give up on each other. They did not let go of each other. Indignation muscled its way to the front of her thoughts. She stepped forward and used the flat of her palms to push him in the chest.

Startled, he fell back a step.

She set her hands on her hips. “Did it ever occur to you to ask me how I feel about you?”

“I think I know how you feel about me.”

“You have no idea how I feel about you.”

He looked at her as if she’d just announced that the koi in the pond were performing a play.

“You should have had a conversation with me about this,” she said.

“We are having a conversation about it.”

“We should have had a conversation about this sooner.”

He scrubbed his hands into his hair, ruining the neat alignment she’d noticed earlier. Then, with a sound of frustration, he dropped his arms. “How do you feel about me?” He appeared to brace for bad news.

“I’m not sure. Which is why there’s no way that you can know, Zander. My feelings for you have been changing.”

A pause. “Changing?”

“When we kissed, the dynamic between us shifted. I haven’t been able to find my equilibrium since.”

“Why? You got everything you wanted the way you wanted it after we kissed. You said you thought it would be best if we didn’t repeat the kiss. And I said okay.”

“My brain was so scrambled after we kissed that I hardly knew what I was saying. My knee-jerk reaction was to safeguard our friendship.”

He drew an uneven breath. “Have you changed your mind? You’re going to have to spell it out for me so that I can understand. What is it you want?”

“I want to kiss you,” she told him bluntly.

He looked like he’d been poleaxed.

Collecting her bravery, she drew herself upright. “That’s what I wanted five seconds after our kiss. And that’s what I’ve continued to want every day since. It’s just that I’m wary about getting your hopes up or my hopes up about the future. I don’t want to cause you or myself pain. I can’t guarantee . . . anything.”

The band began to play “Keep on Loving You” by REO Speedwagon.

“Maybe we should do what other people do when they like each other,” she suggested. “Maybe we should try dating and see where it leads.”

He still hadn’t moved. “You want to date me?”

For the first time since she’d found him in the garden, she smiled. Despite his photographic memory and an extraordinarily high IQ, he seemed to be having difficulty comprehending English. She understood why.

When something had been the same for an eon, it was mind-bending to realize that it was suddenly different. A micro-evolution had occurred in their relationship. “Yes. I want to give dating you a try.”

“And . . . you want to kiss me? Is that what you said?”

A tendril of hair drifted in front of her face. She tucked it behind her ear. “When I told you on the beach that I liked our kiss, that was an understatement. In fact, it was such a big understatement that it might be considered either a sin of omission or a lie.”

His gaze homed in on her.

“That kiss was earth-shattering,” she stated. “In the best possible way.”

He walked slowly toward her, closing the distance between them until they stood less than a foot apart.

Desire began to singe the edges of the clear-headedness she was trying to maintain. “Was it earth-shattering for you, too?” Her voice emerged faintly hoarse.

“Yes. Earth-shattering.”

“Do you want to give dating me a try?” she asked.

He released a rasp of amusement. “Britt. I’ve been wanting to give dating you a try since I was fourteen.”

“You’re not worried?”

“About what?”

“That our dating relationship will crash and burn, which will end up ruining everything between us?”

He thought about it for a drawn-out space of time. His attention traveled down to her lips, held there, then returned to her eyes. “I’m terrified.” He moved in even closer.

She positioned her bare feet between his dress shoes and lifted her chin. She could feel his breath on her lips, and her heart was racing at what felt like double its usual speed. Until now, Zander’s love for her had been hypothetical. She hadn’t known how she’d feel if and when she came face-to-face with the reality of it.

Now she knew. She wasn’t scared. She definitely didn’t want to run. The opposite, in fact. Despite her track record with men, regardless of the epic disaster that might be looming—she wanted this. She was willing to accept a level of danger in exchange for the opportunity of more with him.

He inclined his face toward hers with exquisite deliberation, seeming to test every nuance of her response.

She caught her bottom lip in her teeth. Let it go. Patience wasn’t usually her thing, but she made herself wait. If he could draw out the anticipation of pleasure, then so could she.

His eyelids sunk closed. His lips met hers. In less than a second, the kiss turned passionate. His hands framed her face. Her hands wound behind his neck and insistently pulled him closer.

The rest of the universe ceased to exist. No sounds penetrated but those they were making. No heat but that which they were building. No sensations but these. No people in the world but him. She’d been waiting for this kiss for days that felt like years.

Zander communicated his devotion to her clearly. She expressed that she adored him and depended on him and understood him. She could stand on this spot and kiss him all night. . . .

Except for the fact that she was MIA from Nora’s wedding.

Oh, who cared? She could kiss him for just a little while longer.

After a few more minutes passed, she forced herself to lean back.

He regarded her through hazy eyes.

“I should probably get back to the reception, seeing as how it’s my sister’s reception, and I’m a bridesmaid.” She promptly ruined the effect of her words by kissing the edge of his jaw.

“I agree.” He kissed her forehead.

“Someone might begin to wonder where I am.” She hugged him tighter.

“You’re right.” He trailed kisses toward her collarbone.

Gasping, she angled her head to the side to grant him better access.

“You’re right,” he said again, this time with more clarity and force. He lifted his head. “I’ll go back in with you.”

“Okay.” It would be good, Britt, if you could make yourself move now.

He gave her a wolfish smile. It was rare to see him smile like that, which made it all the more powerful.

She slipped on her shoes, and they walked toward the reception. When they’d almost reached their destination, she pulled him to a halt. “It might not be the best idea to steal Nora’s thunder in any way tonight.”

“No hand-holding at the reception? No kissing? No one the wiser?” He’d read her mind.

“Exactly. You and I are the wiser, though. Which feels like enough for now.”

“More than enough.”

Their eyes met and the knowing look in his caused her senses to leap with delight.

“What are your plans after this?” she asked.

“I don’t have any. You?”

“My cousins are staying with me, so I have to get them settled for the night. After that, I’m free.”

“Want to meet me somewhere?”

“Yes, but where? There’s no privacy at my place.”

“There’s none at the inn, either.”

Her face brightened. “Sweet Art is private. Meet me there forty-five minutes after we leave here?”

“I’ll be there.”

She proceeded Zander—her new boyfriend and oldest friend—into Nora and John’s boisterous celebration.

———

Zander reclaimed his seat at their now-empty table, feeling nothing like the man who’d eaten dinner here. Then it had felt like he’d been in the Upside Down, made famous by the TV show Stranger Things. Now he found himself in the Right Side Up.

He watched Britt check in with her family members, then dance with her dad. He couldn’t fully believe what had just happened between them. It was too good to be true. Too sudden to trust. Too unexpected to have actually happened.

But it had.

He chuckled as he studied the palms of his hands to verify the reality of them. People were going to think he was crazy, sitting here smiling to himself and staring at his hands.

The girl he loved liked him back. She wanted to kiss him. She wanted to date him.

Thank God. He was finally going to get the chance with Britt that he’d been waiting for, and not just since the ninth grade. He’d been born for this chance. If this chance resulted in anything less than marriage and him loving her and her loving him until death, then he’d be finished. There’d be no recovering from a breakup—

He wasn’t going to let himself think about that tonight. He was self-aware enough to know that he could be pessimistic and that he worried too much. He refused to let those weaknesses spoil anything about this night.

“You’re back,” Britt’s grandmother Margaret said to Zander. She approached, Valentina and Clint in her wake. Zander rose and pulled out her chair for her. All four of them settled into their seats. “Was Britt with you just now?” Margaret asked. “I noticed she was gone, too.”

“Yes. We stepped outside to get some air.” A visceral memory of kissing her flashed through his mind. “Compared to the temperature outside, it feels hot in here.” He slid out of his jacket and rolled up his sleeves.

Margaret’s chin tightened. “You know I’ve never approved of those tattoos. It says in Leviticus that God’s people shouldn’t put tattoo marks on themselves.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He knew better than to point out that it also said in Leviticus that God’s people shouldn’t wear clothing woven of two kinds of material . . . like the dress she was wearing.

“In the ancient world,” Clint said, “tattoos played a very cool role in rituals and traditions.”

“Not in Christian rituals and traditions,” Margaret snapped. “Imagine the Apostle Peter with tattoos.”

Valentina inclined her friendly face toward Margaret. “Heater?”

“Peter,” Zander said.

“You cold, miss?” Valentina asked. “Should I get your coat?”

“No, I’m quite comfortable,” Margaret said. “Thank you.”

“Are you referring to the mechanic named Peter who lives in Shelton?” Clint asked. “He’s got a tattoo on his neck, and he’s a legitimate genius with transmissions.”

Zander laughed.

“I’m referring to the Peter who was Jesus Christ’s disciple,” Margaret clarified sharply.

“Icicle?” Valentina asked.

“Disciple.”

Clint responded with a look of contrition. Valentina, with one of confusion.

Margaret’s attention sliced to Zander. His amusement caused her to narrow her eyes.

He couldn’t help it. Britt wanted to date him. He’d be smiling for days.

“When will you be returning to your trip?” she asked.

So long as he and Britt were dating, he wasn’t going anywhere. “I’m not sure.”

“I hope you plan to avoid Amsterdam,” Margaret said.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Margaret sniffed. “Britt tells me that your book has done very well.”

“Far better than I expected.”

“Have you ever considered writing about the stoning of Stephen?” Margaret asked.

“Moaning?” Valentina asked.

“Stoning,” Margaret repeated in a louder tone. “I’ve always thought that would make an excellent topic for a novel.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“I have this book idea,” Clint said. “About this actor who goes to Hollywood and actually meets his muse. You know? The two of them could do all these really cool things together, like paddleboarding and ceramics. Or they could create some of those really big bubbles, you know? Those bubbles that are as tall as a man?”

“Sure. Interesting thought, Clint.”

“I think romance would be for you to write,” Valentina proposed. “You could tell story about Russian woman coming to America as mail-order bride.”

“Fascinating idea.”

“Yes.” Valentina patted his forearm. “Romance be good thing for you to write about, sir. Very good.”

Zander hadn’t planned on staying all the way until the end of Nora and John’s wedding reception, but now a crane wouldn’t be able to drag him away.

He put in an admirable amount of time chatting with Margaret, Valentina, and Clint, even though their conversation reminded him of a trip through a fun house at a fair.

He mingled with reception guests.

Eventually, he and Britt stood across from each other holding lit sparklers as Nora and John ran through the row of guests and climbed into a waiting limo.

Zander had a great deal of affection for Nora. He liked John. He was happy for them. Everyone had had a wonderful time at their ceremony and reception. Neither had been boring or drawn-out.

Even so, he couldn’t have been more glad to see them leave.

Britt squared away her cousins in record time. Record time! Thus, she beat Zander to Sweet Art.

She waited for him in the kitchen, almost unbearably impatient for him to arrive. She’d changed into yoga pants and a long-sleeved work-out top, and passed the time by sitting cross-legged on her desk chair and posting pictures from Nora and John’s wedding to social media. While she waited, Zander’s words “I have always loved you” replayed again and again in her memory.

He’d loved her this whole time. The ramifications of that: enormous.

For one thing, it must have been hard, incredibly hard, on him to have been such a good friend to her all these years while wanting to be more than her friend.

For another thing, she’d taken on a big responsibility tonight when she’d kissed him.

The love he’d extended to her was a sacred trust. She needed to handle it with extreme care. His parents’ love hadn’t proven trustworthy. He’d just lost his uncle. She absolutely had to prove herself dependable in this situation.

In fact, she wanted to prove herself to be better than dependable. She wanted to make up for the pain she’d caused him in the past.

When she heard footsteps on the walkway outside, she raised her head to see him push through Sweet Art’s back door. He’d changed, too. Into jeans and a hoodie.

“Hey,” she said.

He crossed to her and threaded his strong hands into her hair until they supported the base of her neck. Just like that, no preamble. He traced his thumbs along her jaw. “Hey.”

This wondrous new thing between them was way too big and powerful to contain. She’d considered herself to be a romance guru because she’d mowed through an impressive number of boyfriends. She’d been Zander’s girlfriend for all of two and a half hours, and already, she could see that her self-acclaimed knowledge about matters of the heart had been pitifully lacking. Embarrassingly incomplete. Her other relationships had been pleasant and diverting, but they hadn’t been anything like this.

She remembered elementary school worksheets that had asked her to circle the item that wasn’t like the other. If she could line up all her previous boyfriends and Zander, she’d put an enormous circle around Zander.

He kissed her then, tugging her away from coherent thought on an ebb tide of pure, sweet, aching bliss.

Zander’s journal entry, six years ago:

Britt’s been living in France for a year now. In two days, I’ll be taking my second trip to see her there.

I can’t afford international travel. But I can afford the separation between us even less, so I’ve been tutoring students to earn money and eating ramen for dinner.

It’s worth it.

Since she’s been gone, I’ve felt as though there’s a river separating me from everyone and everything else. That river is Britt. That river is France.

My plane leaves in forty-eight hours. Which means I’ll see her again in sixty-three hours and twenty-eight minutes.

Finally.