I felt those feelings deep in my gut reciprocated.
It feels like we turned a corner, but time isn’t on our side anymore. We’re on the downslide of our time here. It’s going to rush by us, and we’re going to head our separate ways back to our lives, both of us forever changed.
I manage a couple hours of sleep, and when morning dawns and Archer shifts, I’m already awake.
“How’d you sleep?” he asks, pressing a kiss to the top of my head.
“Awful,” I admit.
“Oh no. How come?”
I lift a shoulder. “Probably the sugar from the margaritas,” I lie.
“That’s why straight whiskey is where it’s at,” he teases.
I can’t muster up a laugh.
“Are you sure that’s all it is?” he asks.
I don’t answer because I don’t want to lie.
“Can you tell me what happened yesterday at your meeting?” he asks.
I roll off him and sit up, pulling the sheet up with me to cover up my naked body. I draw in a deep breath.
“What is it, Millie?” he asks, his fingertips tracing along my spine. “We had fun last night, and it feels like you let whatever it was go. But now you’re back to being upset. Talk to me.”
“The resort manager is just not happy with the content I’ve been posting,” I finally say. It’s the truth, and it’s the closest I feel comfortable getting to the root of what hesaid. “I guess I need to do more excursions or something.”
“Okay, then let’s stop by the desk and book something. We can do jet skis, deep sea fishing. I saw some food tours and rum tastings. Hikes, ATV tours, beach volleyball. We’ll do it all.”
I glance over at him, and concern knits his brows. I can’t help when my eyes fill with tears.
He sits up and throws his arms around me from behind. “Jesus, Millie. Will you talk to me?”
“We only have two weeks left,” I say, my voice trembling. I leave it at that. I don’t say that I don’t want to leavehim, but the implication is in the air.
“So that gives us two weeks to live it up,” he says softly.
“And head our separate ways at the end,” I say flatly.
He’s quiet behind me. “I’ve been thinking about that, too,” he finally says. “Dreading it, actually.”
“And?” I ask, turning back toward him.
“Things feel so natural between us,” he says. “But—”
“But,” I interrupt, my voice flat.
“Yeah,” he murmurs. “There’s a but, and it’s the fact that I have less than two weeks when I get home to get back in season shape so I can get out on the field the moment this suspension is over. And then it’s games six to seven days a week for the next five months, maybe playoffs after that. I have a lot to prove after sitting out for forty games, and I won’t get to be there to help nurture something between us. It won’t be like it’s been for the last two weeks. We won’t see each other, and you’ll go back home to your job, too. Your dreams. Your life.”
I hear his words, but I can’t help thinking he’s giving up without giving us a real chance.
Just because he and his ex grew apart as they each focused on their separate careers doesn’t mean he and I will.
But…
There’s a but.
