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Rowan flashes me a grin. “Yeah, I remember you mentioning it.”
Huh...I don’t recall that conversation.
“Really?” My brows lift as I sift through my memories.
“It was a while ago.” He shrugs. “You said your dad would bring you here after games. You loved the dipped cones.”
That’s exactly what I’d order.
Every single time.
My heart flutters beneath my ribcage at the realization that he tucked away such an insignificant piece of information. It’s another reminder that Rowan has been quietly hovering at the edges of my life, paying attention to the minute details, while I was intent on creating walls to keep him at a distance. I pegged him as a player who would only end up hurting me.
How did I not see him for the person he truly is?
Why was I so stubborn about giving him a chance?
I don’t realize I’ve become trapped in a web of my thoughts until Rowan reaches over and gently strokes his fingers along the curve of my cheek. “Does it weird you out that I know so much?” Concern and embarrassment weave their way through his deep voice.
If it were anyone else—yeah, I might find it creepy or stalkerish. But how can I possibly feel that way when this is Rowan we’re talking about? Someone who has been a part of my life for so long? He and my dad have formed such a strong bond. We sit down for dinner every Wednesday night. We’ve had at least one class together every semester. Had I paid more attention, I’d probably know as much about him as he does about me.
“No.” If I’m being honest, I like that he knows me so well. Rowan understands what’s important to me. I’ve been with enough self-absorbed guys who didn’t ask one thing about me. Some couldn’t even be bothered to discover what position I play on the field. They talk about themselves ad nauseam and barely ask any questions. They don’t care about my thoughts or feelings. Sometimes, I think they would prefer I didn’t have any. “It doesn’t.”
“Good.” The pad of his thumb grazes my bottom lip. “The last thing I want to do is scare you away.”
“I’m not scared.” Which is strange. I’ve spent so many years keeping him at a firm distance, and now, all I want to do is pull him close. I want to rip away the last of the barriers that keep me from him. “I wish I hadn’t been so stubborn,” I admit. Guilt slices through me as my gaze drops to my fingers as they twist together in my lap. “I wasted so much time.”
“I think we went through everything we needed to in order to get to this place. Our relationship deepened when it was meant to.”
His response sends a little shiver scuttling through me, and the fine hair on my arms prickle. “Do you really believe that?” My gaze locks on his as interest careens through me. “That everything happens for a reason?”
Emotion flashes in his blue eyes. For a split second, they deepen with a vibrant color before vanishing. It’s there and gone like a crack of lightning before I can decipher what it meant.
“For the most part, I do.” His fingers strum my cheek, and I’m tempted to sink into his touch.
His take on life surprises me. I wasn’t expecting it.
Fate.
Kismet.
Destiny.
Whatever you want to call it, it all means the same thing.
I tilt my head and study him, intrigued by the notion. This isn’t the kind of conversation I expected to have with Rowan while sitting in the Twist ’N Dip parking lot. All thoughts of ice cream flee as I delve headfirst into the topic. “Isn’t that more of a yes or no question? You either believe everything happens for a reason or you don’t?”
A slight chuckle escapes from him. “Is anything in life ever that black and white?” The emotion I’d caught sight of moments ago comes back full force, and it feels like we’re drilling a little deeper beneath the surface of our relationship. He’s revealing a tiny piece of himself that not everyone else gets to see. “Is your life that black and white?”
Good question.
“I’ve never thought about it before in such simple terms.” As the words tumble off my tongue, I realize there’s never been a need for me to examine such an existential question. Even though my parents are divorced, and our family has gone through some challenging times, my life has been stable and fairly easy. My parents have good jobs, we’ve had plenty of money, and have always had a nice place to live. And I was loved. Most of the girls I grew up playing soccer with came from the same kind of upper middle-class background. Travel soccer is surprisingly expensive; you have to have a disposable income to practice, train, and travel. This little bit of introspection makes me realize how blessed I am. Perhaps if my life hadn’t been so cushy, those are questions I would have reflected upon at an earlier age.
