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And below that, the open glass of a fireplace.
The
fireplace.

My fireplace.

Mesmerized, I walked on clouds to the wall, reaching out my hand and gliding my palm over the shiny, smooth mantel.

“My project.”

The sound made me jump. I turned to the opposite side of the room and saw faded jeans and a dusty, white t-shirt hugging his shoulders. He was kneeling by the wall, facing away from me, working on something electrical.

“You mean the project from the banquet?” I had to clear my throat to get the volume to work. “The award you won?” When he didn’t answer I gazed back at the fireplace. It was a replica of the fireplace from my old apartment, only three times bigger and much more elaborate. Exactly like the one he’d sketched for me a long time ago in my past. But “a long time ago in my past” folded on top of the present as I stood before the marvelous structure. Something so incredible and overwhelming was almost too much to look at up close. “It’s beautiful.” It wasn’t the word I was looking for, but was there a word for “It’s perfect and you’re perfect, and for this, I will love you for the rest of my life”? I didn’t think so.

I backed away to get a fuller view, but found myself instead gazing at him. Because he built my fireplace. Because around him, there was nowhere else my eyes wanted to be. He didn’t look up—so much for the cute, green chiffon blouse I’d chosen to wear—as I watched him examine what he was working on. Fierce concentration worked in his eyes, almost to the point of fixation. What I wouldn’t give to be the woman consuming those thoughts, to be the one on the other side of that look, to provoke that type of passion in him, to have all six-foot-something of him wrapped around me—
Darn it, Heather, don’t start that already.

“Electrical work?” I asked, walking closer to get a better look. “Looks like fun.”

“You offering to help?” After a moment, he glanced up briefly with the barest little grin, and then returned his attention to what I guessed was recessed floor lights.

Unfortunately, he hadn’t lost that irresistible sparkle of mischief since we’d last met up on the basketball court.

I came closer, feigning interest in his project in order to be near him. “You stink,” I said over his shoulder.

“Only you would say something like that.”

If only he knew my thoughts behind the words. He didn’t really stink at all, though he did smell. He smelled sweaty and appealing. I was going to have to breathe through my mouth to get through this.

After a moment of watching him work, I ventured into the quiet with, “I came over to talk to you.”

“I wanted to talk to you, too,” he said, wiping the sawdust off his chin with a shoulder.

“Okay.”

“I think you should buy a different car.”

“What?” I was so taken off guard I didn’t know what to say. “Don’t you think maybe we could talk about something a little more important than my car?”

“Cars are important. Yours sucks and you need a different one.”

“I like my car, and since I don’t have the money to buy a new one—”

“I know this guy who owns a car dealership. He’ll give you a deal, you’re monthly payments should be almost nothing, he’ll work with you.”

“What if I don’t want a new car?”

“Unless you’re planning to rob a bank, it won’t be new. But at least it will run.”

Give up Penny? Never. Had he forgotten how stubborn I could be? And Penny was a great car. Just a little sick at the moment. But none of that was why I was here.

“Think about it?” he asked, looking up. I nodded once, not wanting to start on a disagreement.

After watching him for a while, thinking about how to begin this conversation, I finally just said something. “You probably already know that I didn’t come here to talk about cars.”

He bent a thick, stiff wire and placed it inside the little plastic recessed box, then stood, tossing some wire cutters into a toolbox a few feet away.

Okay, here goes nothing. “You know that I sometimes have a hard time expressing what’s on my mind.”

“Do I?” He took a swig of the drink in his hand.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he said after swallowing. “You were saying?”

“No. Tell me what you meant by that.”

He returned my stare with one of his own. “The thing is, I never really knew who you were, did I?” His words were placid, mild. Only someone who knew him well would sense a trace of resentment in them. And it was interesting to see how the relaxed and confident colors of his personality had survived all these years and blended with the apathetic shades of him now.

“I know I lied to you about a few things, and I’m not sure why I didn’t come clean sooner. I mean, I do know why, but, I…can’t really explain it.” This was complicated, to explain to him how everything had unfolded in my reflection-dreams, and then how all my feelings were warped in those dreams, not as accurate as when the moments happened in real life. “I’m a little confused about why it was so hard for me. I think it was because when I first came to college, I really wanted to rise above my past. I thought that by ignoring it, I could become someone better. At first, I guess I didn’t think lying about it was that big of a deal, until it became a big deal. I can’t really even remember exactly what I said to you about my family.”

“I could help you; the lies are still pretty clear to me.”

I ignored his sarcasm and continued, “I know that I wanted to tell you, and I tried, so many times. I kept postponing it until I felt it was the right moment. But that moment came too late. Again, some of the memories are a little bit fuzzy.”

“That’s convenient.”

Couldn’t he cut me any slack? I had planned to wing it once I got here, but now I was wondering if that was such a good idea since I wasn’t explaining myself very well.

“Maybe you should learn how to tell the truth from the start,” he said, and my eyes narrowed.

“I’ll work on that.”

“Good. And if you’re here to talk about us, you’re wasting your time,” he informed me, but not without a slight stiffness in his voice. “It’s not going to happen.”

My heart took an irregular thump. “Actually, I did come here to talk about us.”

“The bottom line is, you’re complicated, she’s not.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked, the unpleasant pressure spreading in my chest.

“With her it’s easy. I don’t feel like my world’s going to end if I don’t talk to her for a few days. I can go a week without even seeing her and be fine.”

“And that’s normal?” I questioned, stunned by the way his rationalization was so obvious and logical to him. “I was under the impression that a good relationship was just the opposite.”

“Calm down, the neighbors can hear you.”

“Sounds fun, though,” I interrupted, my words punctuated by sarcasm. “Sign me up.”

“Will you relax,” he instructed. “Listen, it’s not important that you understand.”

“No one would understand!” I yelled. “You’re not making sense.” I took a deep breath to diffuse the flames. “You know what? Why do I even bother with you?” I crossed over several emotions, finally deciding I wasn’t ready to leave yet. It felt so alleviating to be getting it all out. “You know what I can’t believe? I can’t believe you just accepted it. You didn’t even attempt to come after me. You just let me go, without even finding out for sure.”

“The message you left on my phone the night before you left, told me what I needed to know.”

I was stunned he remembered a phone call from so long ago, a phone call that was more current to me through my reflection-dreams. “Nick, that phone message was about my family! I wanted to tell you the truth about them, not break up with you! You know what, it doesn’t even matter. You still let me go, without a backward glance.”

“False. I came to your apartment. I watched your friend—” he paused, and then swore under his breath. “I watched him move all of your stuff out. For two hours I sat and watched him carry out your things, doing everything in my power not to get out of my truck and smash his head into the gutter.”

“But I never showed up, did I?” I fought back.

His hand rubbed down his face; the room remained still. During the silent lull, a brief memory pressed to mind, a memory from the day before the phone call and my fateful evening jog. Quickly, the memory unfolded; quietly, I suffered through it:

Lounging on a bed in a familiar apartment, hands tangled together, talking about the car accident that took his brother’s life.

He continued, “I didn’t even get the chance to tell him I loved him. One second we were laughing in the car, the next second his body was lying in the road, his head on my lap gushing blood on my jeans. I couldn’t get it to stop. I pressed so hard, and his blood was everywhere, and it wouldn’t stop.”

She clutched his hand, wanting to cry for the boy who lost his older brother that day. “You don’t have to tell me any more, unless you want to.”

“I probably should have cried,” he went on after a time. “Gotten it all out. But for some reason I couldn’t. I didn’t cry once. My mom doesn’t think my body produces tears. I guess I never cried, even when I was younger.”

They laughed about that, because there was nothing else to laugh about.

When the humor died, his finger stroked her face. “I hate thinking about it.”

She turned her body into him and wrapped her leg around his. Something significant had changed in their relationship. There was a bond now, like the links of trust forged by family ties. One that would weather ups and downs, and happy and sad times. Her hold tightened; she promised herself to never let him go; to take care of him; make all the sad go away, and make him happy. He deserved her honesty, too. She would open up tomorrow night and tell him about the pain of losing her mom. But not right now. Tonight was his moment, not hers. And as promised, she would make him happy.

She said, “When we get married can we sleep in on the weekends and cuddle totally completely naked and eat cold pizza for breakfast in bed and do all the kinky things those stupid romantic couples do?”

“Did you say pizza?” he said with a mischievous glint in his eyes, and she broke out in laughter.

The memory was too tender, and it yanked my heart painfully. “I never would have let you go,” I whispered into the hush, holding back my tears. “I was young and stupid, and too immature to admit the truth. But I would have come after you. I would have fought forever.” My hold weakened, and something trickled down my cheek. I wiped at it quickly, angry I was such a wuss. “I can’t do this anymore.” I turned and walked toward the front door. “It’s pointless.”

“You know what’s pointless?” He was right behind me then. “Seeing you again.” I wiped away another stray and faced him in the entryway. “Do you know what that does to me? Can you even understand?” He wiped away another one of my tears, an odd gesture while losing one’s temper. “Do you realize what I’m going through? Having you here again? When I forced myself to accept that you were gone?

“Heather, you left me. You walked away. And it made me crazy. It made me hate that I ever loved you. I couldn’t stand thinking about you. Your face, your laugh, all the memories. You just left, and I hated you for it.

“And now, here you are, back in my life, and you’re still you. And I hate that you’re making me feel again. For the way you made me laugh at the park that day, for stealing my composure at the banquet, for making me want to commit murder when I walked into your apartment and saw you laying there with another guy. For making me second-guess every decision I’ve made the past year, and hurting innocent people in the process. For coming into my normal, ordinary life like a tornado and messing up everything all over again.”

“Nick, I—”

“You’re a plague, a sickness, a dangerous, addictive drug—” His eyelids narrowed and his voice was deeply low and dangerously measured.

“Please, just let me—”

“And no matter how hard I try, I can’t stop thinking about punishing you intensely, forever, tying you up and dragging you to the most remote part of the world and having my way with you, for everything I feel and everything you are.” I knew the lid of his temper had completely blown off when I caught the blaze of fire in his eyes.

Drawn like a lost butterfly to a burning flame, I moved toward him.

“Stay where you are,” he demanded in almost a whisper, his anger bubbling far too close to the surface.

Though frightened by the feral look in his eyes, I didn’t stop. Some part of me needed to push him, send him toppling over the edge.

His restrained expression turned murderous. “Back away, now.”

“No,” I said defiantly.

That did it.

In the next breath, he grabbed me, taking my arms in a crushing grip and pushing me back against the front door. His touch, though rough, brought on an incredible heat that coiled in my belly.

My back hit the door hard and the breath flew out of me. In the next second he surrounded me, his hands pressed against the door, his shoulders lifted, caging me in, bracing himself. I wanted to touch him somewhere, anywhere, but my arms wouldn’t work. My body was trembling, and all I could hear amid the rush in my head was our breaths, hard and fast, mingled in the air between us, our mouths being pulled together by an invisible string that tightened and tightened with each second. Our eyes burned into each other’s, mine laced with equal parts desire and fear. He must’ve noticed the latter since his forehead pressed into mine, his eyes pinched shut, fighting against sheer need, agonizing with the ache of it.