I woke up disoriented, blinking into consciousness after the first night of real sleep I’d had in months. Sunlight streamed in through the tree branches crisscrossing the window. My limbs were tangled up with Flynn’s and I turned my head to look at him. He was still sleeping, his breathing deep and even, and I noticed that the tips of his ears were sunburned. I lay still, trying not to wake him while I drank in his calm, unguarded features.
It occurred to me that, unless one is in love with a man, one does not generally rhapsodize over his sunburned ears. Do the math, and you arrive at the same conclusion I did.
But I did not panic. I did not flee the premises. And that, along with my sudden affinity for sunburned ears, was highly unusual.
I waxed poetic about ears for another three minutes. Then I just wanted him to get up and ravish me. So I draped myself over him like a chinchilla coat and began stroking his cheek.
“Mmm?” he said, part sleepy question, part growl.
“Good morning, good morning to you,” I sang into his sunburned ear.
He threaded his fingers through my hair and tugged lightly. “What are you so happy about?”
I stroked my way down his chest and stomach. “You.”
He opened his eyes and gave me a disheveled grin. “Since when are you a morning person?”
I leaned over to kiss him.
“Wait,” he said, stopping me with a frown.
I slid my bare legs against his and mirrored his frown. “What?”
“Nothing. I just don’t think we should…do this yet.”
I rolled away from him with the sheet clutched around my chest. A cold front was creeping into my core. “Do what yet? Cast your mind back—we already did this last night.”
I felt him turn toward me. “I know,” he said.
“So?” I knotted the sheet in my hand.
He sighed. The mattress shifted as he lay back, moving away from me. “Last night was probably a mistake.”
All molecular motion ceased.
“Wait, Faith. Before you freak out, and I know you’re about to, let me explain.” He rested a hand on the nape of my neck, but I shrugged him off.
I was trying to rally the troops. Inhale. Exhale.
“Last night was incredible, obviously,” he said slowly. “Incredible. But I don’t want to just jump in and have everybody take for granted that this is now a really serious relationship.”
“Everybody?” I repeated. “Define ‘everybody’.”
“Look. I don’t want a replay of last time. I mean, I’m really relieved that you’re even here this morning.”
“Well, isn’t that good?”
“No. I shouldn’t be relieved that you stuck around for the second act. That should be a given, not a cliffhanger. I can’t pretend that the past never happened. We shouldn’t do this”—he gestured to the tangled bedclothes—“until we work out what we need to work out.”
“Well, you’re a day late and a dollar fucking short on that one.” My voice was high and clipped. “Were you not here last night? You initiated it, you never said anything about nonescalation or whatever, and you seemed to have a fine time.”
“True.” He sounded utterly calm and controlled. “However—”
“However what? However, you decided you’re not attracted to me anymore?”
“Faith—”
“However, I was just a one-night stand?”
“You know—”
“Or how about this one? However, you’re still trying to punish me for what I did when I was eighteen and even stupider than I am now?” I choked on the end of this sentence.
His hand was back on my neck, smoothing my hair. “I’m not trying to punish you. Would you stop being so irrational and listen for a minute?”
I shut up, but only because his unmitigated gall left me speechless. So this was how crimes of passion started. A woman who has been grievously wronged points out the obvious, and then the guy busts out the I-word.
“It’s not that I don’t want to sleep with you. I obviously do. To the point of losing my good judgment.” He paused for a moment, I assumed to savor his conquest of the dizzy broad who should have known better. “I’m not trying to punish you. I’m not saying last night shouldn’t have happened at all, or that we shouldn’t get involved. We already are.”
“However?” I asked, icicles dripping from every syllable.
He sighed again. “However, we need to slow down.”
I thrashed around in the sheets like a trout on the bottom of a rowboat. “Oh my God! Are you actually going to lie there, in bed, with no pants on, and tell me that you think we need to slow down?”
He set his jaw. The stubble, which had looked so masculine and sexy fifteen minutes ago, now seemed sloppy and Neanderthal. “We do need to slow down. There’s a lot of stuff we still haven’t dealt with.”
Just my luck to find the one man in the Western World who wanted to deal with relationship issues.
“What ever happened to not wanting to talk about it?”
His stubborn look was intensifying. “I would rather slow down and give this a chance to work out than crash and burn again.”
How subtle. The crash-and-burn finger pointing right at me. My blood began to boil.
He remained impassive. “If we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it my way this time. I admit that I got a little, uh, carried away last night. That was my fault. But things are going to be different from here on out.”
“I didn’t realize you were such a control freak,” I bit out.
“I told you, I’m not trying to punish you or control you or confuse you. All I want is to establish a solid foundation before we start throwing up walls and support beams and roofs.”
“When did we start with the construction analogies? And what the hell does that even mean? You’re saying my foundation is faulty?”
He rubbed his forehead. “I can’t tell yet. I hope not. I hope to hell it’s not, Faith, because the last time we collapsed, I spent years recovering. I do not ever want to do that again.”
“Oh.” This took the wind out of my sails.
Now he was scrutinizing the ceiling. “I didn’t know what happened to you. I had to ask your mom where you’d gone. I had to get Skye to tell me about California and Hank.” I winced at the sound of that name coming out of that mouth.
“I know,” I said softly. I wanted to touch him, but I couldn’t bear the possibility that he’d shrug me off like I’d shrugged him off.
“All I knew was that I’d had sex with you and I wanted to marry you and you disappeared. You just took off. I didn’t know if you were ever coming back. I didn’t know a damn thing.” His expression was completely neutral, his words even and measured.
“But you broke up with me,” I reminded him. “When you knew what I was going through at home, when you knew I needed you so badly. And afterward, well…I wanted to call you. I wanted to explain so many times, but…”
We lay there in silence, wary and raw under the harsh morning sun. I could hear the faint sounds of traffic outside, everyone on their way to somewhere else.
“But you didn’t call. For a while there, I was worried you had gotten pregnant.”
I had never even considered this. The idea of him thinking that, staring up at the Minnesota sky while I streaked off towards the Pacific, made me ache.
“Flynn.” My voice was steady. At this point, words were all I had to prop myself up with. “I’m sorry. I am sorry a million times over. But I cannot change the past.”
He looked at me. “I’m not asking you to change the past. I’m asking you to figure out the present. Do you even know if you’re staying in Lindbrook? Or for how long?”
“Uh…”
“I just want to be a little more confident about the future before we build on the foundation.”
I glowered at him. “Will you please stop comparing me to a construction site? It’s really very insulting.”
“Fine,” he agreed. “We’ll use your car analogy. I don’t want to be a Ford.”
“But Fords are good!”
“Sure, good for you. I’m glad you think I’m dependable and tough and roomy enough for all your so-called baggage. But what do I get out of it?”
I sensed a trick question. “What do you want to get out of it?”
“I am more than your trusty backup. I am more than the guy you call when your ‘Fiat’ breaks down and leaves you stranded at four A.M.”
“Of course you are.” I clasped my fingers together.
His expression was dubious. “We’ll see.”
“We’ll see what?”
“We’ll see what happens.” He resettled his body under the few scraps of covers I’d left him. “Let’s table this for now. Do you want to use the shower first?”
I gathered the sheet around me and stalked off to the bathroom.
While the steaming water coursed over my skin and the industrial-grade shampoo sudsed in my hair, I tried to hold on to my anger and ignore the searing pangs of guilt.
He had hurt me this morning, but I knew he had a point. I couldn’t be trusted with other people’s hearts. I couldn’t even be trusted with my own.
Flynn and I spent our post-sex, post-argument Saturday afternoon watching the Cubs game on TV. We were not really speaking to each other, although occasionally we would speak at each other. It was like we had never left middle school.
“Please pass the popcorn,” I said. “If that’s not moving the relationship too fast for you.”
“Here you go. But could you do me a favor and stop drooling over Kerry Wood? You’re going to flood the living room.”
“I’m not drooling over him,” I lied. “You seem to have mistaken me for someone who has any use whatsoever for men.”
“I seem to remember you having plenty of uses for me.” He said this matter-of-factly, without a trace of a taunt, then returned his attention to the TV screen. “Why the hell is Sosa all the way back in the outfield?”
I counted to ten, then did my best Grace Kelly impression. “Won’t you please excuse me?”
He stood to let me by. “Sure. Where are you going?”
“I have to make a call.” I closed the bedroom door behind me, snatched up the cordless phone and dialed.
It rang. And rang.
And then my last resort, my only port in the storm, came through.
“Hello?” Skye’s voice was thick and heavy with sleep.
I frowned. “Dude. Aren’t you up yet?”
“Faithie!” She yawned. I could picture her back in Lindbrook, all flopsy and frail in her pj’s. “I’m exhausted. I was out so late last night. Those hockey players were really fun. And then I was talking to Lars for a while. He cleaned up the whole bar after the party.”
“Why would he do that? Doesn’t he know you’re with Ian now?”
“Yeah, but, you know. He’s one of those ‘nice guys’ you read about. But who cares about me—how was your night? Did you get any?”
I rolled my eyes. “Nicely put.”
“Did you?”
Fifty miles away, I blushed. “You are so vulgar.”
“You did! I knew it! Are you in looove now?”
“Not so fast.”
“Why?” she demanded. “What happened?”
“Well.” I sat down heavily on the mattress. “That’s what I’m calling about. I know business and you know men, remember? So, I need help. A lot of help.”
“Uh-oh. What’d you do to him this time?”
“Nothing! Why would you assume that I did something?” I waited for the beat of two breaths. “Never mind, don’t answer that. Look. I thought everything was fine, and then this morning it disintegrated into a total shambles.”
“Why? What’s the problem?”
“All right. Last night we drove up to his place, and then we did things that I never thought I’d do in Lutheran Land—”
“No details!” she yelled. “You’re my sister and he’s like my brother, and I don’t need the visual!”
“Fine. And then we went to sleep, and I woke up all blissed out this morning, and I did not bolt—”
“You didn’t what?”
“Bolt. Run away. You know.” I crossed my arms and gave the bedroom wall a look of defiance.
She paused. “Do you usually? Bolt? The morning after?”
“Well…” Sometimes I forgot how much I’d sugar-coated my reports of California to my family. “Yeah. Occasionally.”
“God, you’re weird.” Her mouth was full now, probably with untoasted Pop Tart. “But okay, you didn’t run away. Good girl. You want a cookie for that?”
When did she get so uppity? “Listen, missy—”
“Right, okay, that’s not the point. I get it,” she conceded. “What’s the problem? This time?”
I sighed. “After all that, he just spurns me this morning! He rebuffed my advances and said we had to ‘slow down,’ whatever that means.”
“Huh.”
“I know! I finally smoked him out of the grass, and he ran into the underbrush! He was supposed to come to me!”
Another pause. “Huh.”
“And then he went off on this irrelevant tangent about building a house and dealing with our old issues and not rushing into things.”
“Wow.” She sounded impressed. “That’s very mature of him. That actually makes pretty good sense.”
I held the receiver away from my ear, stared at it for a long moment, then pressed it back up to my ear. “No, it doesn’t! It makes sense to do that before you sleep with someone, not after. Now it’s just a slap in the face, because obviously he sampled the merchandise and he didn’t like it. He’s got sexual buyer’s remorse.”
She ignored this. “Where are you now?”
“We’re both watching the Cubs game in his living room and pretending to be functional adults.”
“Who’s pitching?”
I sighed. “Kerry Wood.”
“He’s such a hottie.”
I checked my watch. “But what should I do?”
“About Flynn?”
“Yes, about Flynn. I’m so humiliated. He thinks I’m an architecturally deficient chippy.”
My sister cleared her throat and took charge. “Two things. First of all, you have to stop dealing with man problems over the phone. Get off the line and suck it up, Faithie. Be a marine and fight the good fight.”
Wait a second. Hadn’t we had this same conversation when I was in Florence, telling her what to do?
But she wasn’t finished. “Second of all, he does not think you’re a chippy. He’s probably just scared that you’ll take off for California again.”
I groaned. “Why must everyone keep bringing that up? That was a really long time ago.”
“Yeah, but have you guys talked about your plans for after the summer?” she asked.
I did not have an answer for this.
“See?” She was triumphant. “He probably doesn’t want to deal with all that again. But you can change his mind. It’s easy. Just seduce him.”
“That’s your answer to everything? Weren’t you listening? He doesn’t want to be seduced.”
“Of course he does. All men want to be seduced. Just calm him down and get him to stop thinking so much.”
“And how exactly do I do that?”
“Well, to calm him down, just be nice.” Her tone suggested it was time to increase my medication dosage. “Pretend you’re wearing the homecoming crown. Be sweet and reassuring. Don’t be snarky.”
“And as for getting him to stop thinking?”
“Duh. Alcohol.” She giggled. “This whole ‘slowing down’ thing is hogwash. Take him out for a pitcher of beer after the game and you’re good to go. End of story.”
I tapped my foot. “If only it were that simple.”
“It is that simple. I’m telling you! Homecoming queen plus alcohol equals helpless man-slave!”
I did not ask her how she could be so sure of this equation.
“Look, I’m hungry and I have to go. Do what you want. I’m just afraid that if you two don’t get it together, once and for all, like normal people, you’re going to freak out again and head for the hills. And then both of you are going to be really sad.”
I sighed. “Maybe I should just head for the hills. Save us both a lot of hassle.”
There was a long pause.
“Don’t say that. You can handle this. Don’t run away again, okay? Flynn loves you. I love you.”
“Love” was not a casual word in the Geary family. Even Skye, who got assigned the bubbly, peaches and cream role, hardly ever said “love.” I cradled the phone against my ear, but there was dead silence on her end. “Okay. I won’t run away.”
“Okay!” A smile bounced back into her voice. “Now go drench that man in liquor, have fun, and be safe!”