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“I missed you,” he says softly.
I don’t respond. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to say.
One of his hands rises to the back of my head. “What have you done to your hair? I hardly recognized you.”
I jerk back from him, shocked that I’ve forgotten such an important detail.
“I just needed a change,” I say, grabbing at it self-consciously.
I look up into Ian’s eyes, trying to guess how he feels about it.
“It’ll take some getting used to,” he says finally, “but it suits you.”
I don’t think it suits me at all, but Ian is too kind to ever say a word against it. His own hair is a little shorter than it was the last time I saw him, but still long enough that a curl has fallen across his forehead. Out of habit, I find myself wanting to reach up and touch it, to push that curl back and run my fingers through the strands the way I used to on all those nights back in Thailand.
I step away from him, nervous again.
“My car’s out front,” I tell him. “Are you hungry? Should we go get some dinner?”
“I’m starved.”
“There’s a cute little bistro down the road.”
“Sounds great.”
He grabs his suitcase and we head outside. It’s nearly sunset, and the sky is slowly fading into a beautiful show of pinks and oranges. I had to tell Mr. Haymore that I had a family emergency in order to get off an hour early, and though I’ll probably have to work overtime the rest of the week to get back in his good graces, it was necessary. But now that I’m here, now than Ian is standing in front of me, I don’t know what to do.
This was a mistake, I think. I shouldn’t have let him come here. It brings up too many… complicated things. But another part of me is overjoyed to see him. I’m not sure which reaction scares me the most.
We’re both silent on the walk to my car. I nibble on my nail and steal peeks at him out of the corner of my eye. Despite the way things ended between us, these last couple of months have been good to him. His skin is tanned and smooth, and I swear his shoulders are broader than I remember. Ian always had long, lean muscles. A runner’s build. Now he seems… stronger? He’s looking even more athletic than usual, if that’s possible, though he isn’t quite as deliciously bulky as Ward.
Ward. Guilt washes through me. I shouldn’t be thinking about him anymore, not after the way I behaved. And I definitely shouldn’t be thinking about him when I’m here with Ian.
I don’t look at Ian again until we reach my car. Suddenly his hand’s on mine, and he pulls my poor nibbled nail away from my mouth. For a moment he just looks down at me, his eyes soft and sympathetic. The sunlight brings out the warm tones in his dark curls—hair that used to match my own.
His hand rises to my face, his fingers sweeping along my cheek. I feel like such a soft little thing beneath his touch.
And then he’s leaning down, and his lips brush against mine so lightly that I wonder if I’m only imagining the contact. He holds his face there for a moment, his eyes searching mine, before pulling back again.
“I’m sorry,” he says, a whisper of heat in his voice. “I just needed to do that.”
I don’t say anything. I’m still trying to figure out exactly what I’m feeling right now. But I pop the trunk for him, and then we both climb into the car.
The drive to Bistro Lola is just as awkward. Part of me longs to tell him how much I missed him, how much I need someone here to help me through all of this Huntington Manor crap, but the other part still thinks this was all a terrible idea. That I should turn around right now, drop him back off at the airport, and buy him a plane ticket home.
Selfish Lou wins out, of course. She usually does. I tell myself that he’s already here, that to send him back now would be inconsiderate, and since there’s no turning back, I might as well enjoy his company. He came all the way down here to see me, after all.
“What have you been up to since you got back to the States?” I ask. We follow Bistro Lola’s hostess to a small table next to one of the windows.
It’s the most I’ve said since he arrived, and I watch the relief flicker in his eyes.
“Nothing crazy,” he says, sliding into the seat across from mine. “Mostly visiting with family. And trying to answer the age-old question of what I want to do with my life.” His mouth lifts in a smile, one of those sweet, rare wonders from him.
I feel myself start to relax a little. I’d forgotten how easy it was to be around Ian.
“What about you?” he says. “How have you been?”
Ah, there’s the million-dollar question. I bite down on my lip, trying to decide how to explain everything to him. If I should explain everything to him. He reaches across the table and takes my hand.
“You don’t have to talk about anything right now,” he says. “There’s plenty of time for that.”
And so for the next few minutes we talk about mindless things. He tells me about the orphanage project they finished just before he left Thailand, and he talks about his hopes for the future of the program. I can’t take my eyes off him as he speaks. His whole face lights up when he talks about his work with Cunningham Cares International. This is a man truly inspired and fulfilled by his work. I’m reminded of all the things that drew me to him in the first place: his compassion, his optimism, his warmth. When he catches me watching him, the corners of his mouth turn up again. My cheeks go hot.
“I didn’t mean to talk so much,” he says. Our food arrived several minutes ago, but neither of us has touched our plate yet. He grabs half of his sandwich and looks at me. “So where have you been staying? Is your brother in town?”
He hesitates slightly before the mention of my brother. He knows things have been a little tense between me and Calder recently. He won’t fault me if I don’t want to talk about it, but he’s spent so much time listening to me cry about my issues, so many nights comforting me, that I feel like I owe him something.
“Calder’s in the area,” I say. I don’t want to lie to him if I can help it. “But I’ve only seen him once since I returned. We still have some things to sort through.”
“You’ve been staying with friends, then?”
I can tell by his tone that he fears the worst: that I’ve been cooped up by myself these past few weeks. Little does he know things are far more complicated than that.
