Hell, Iwantedit to happen.
But now, standing here in the steam-choked bathroom of the Honey Leaf Lodge, I wasn’t so sure I’d done the right thing.
I braced both hands against the shower wall, water sluicing over my neck and down my spine. It should’ve grounded me. Instead, I felt like I was hovering six inches off the earth, completely untethered.
Because the truth was staring me down like a freight train.
I lived inFlorida.
She lived inWisconsin.
I had a career, one I’d built with blood and bone and sleep-starved deadlines. One I had convinced myself I wanted even when every fiber in me screamed otherwise.
I didn’thavespace for someone like Fifi.
And she didn’t deserve a man who couldn’t figure out which direction his life was even pointed. I’d done that once before and it turned out awful.
But God, last night…
I pressed my forehead to the cool tile, letting the contrast of the water and porcelain sting some sense back into me.
Because I hadn’t just kissed her.
I’dopenedsomething, something real and completely terrifying. Something I couldn’t just pack away in my luggage when I flew home.
I killed the water, stepped out of the shower, and grabbed the towel with more force than necessary. My reflection in the mirror was blurred by fog, but even without details, I could see the tension in my shoulders. The way my jaw was set like a man preparing for a fight.
And I wasn’t even sure who I was fighting.
Myself, probably. As usual.
I tugged on clean clothes, towel-dried my hair, and sat on the edge of the bed staring at my phone for too long.
Then, without overthinking it, I texted my brother.
Might’ve overstepped with someone here. The woman at the lodge. I crossed a line.
His reply came a minute later.
DUSTIN: You kissed a girl??! Our little emotionally unavailable baby bird is growing up. I’m so proud. Tell her I’ll knit her a welcome blanket.
I stared at the screen, not sure whether to laugh, throw the phone, or drive to the airport immediately. Sobriety didn’t soften his edge.
I wrote back.
I’m serious. She’s not just anyone. And I don’t even know what I’m doing.
He responded faster this time.
That’s the point, dumbass. You never let yourself not know what you’re doing. Maybe it’s time you just go with the flow and quit planning shit.
I wrote back a smiley face and gave up.
We didn’t do deep. Not me. Not Dustin. We joked. We deflected. We brushed over scars and called it coping.
Even when we were younger and everything at home was breaking apart, we handled it in sarcasm and strategy.
Dustin escaped, and I stayed behind and tried to hold the walls together with duct tape and denial.
