Page 96 of Old Flames

She nodded. “There’s something about today, something heavy.”

He did not want her to feel this way. With a tug, he led her across the street, and straight toward Duval, the heart of it all.

“Where are we going?” she demanded, confused.

“I owe you a sunset!”

When they arrived at Mallory Square, Leo questioned his impulse. It was Friday evening in a tourist town. A cruise ship had docked, and the weekenders were in town. Mimes, clowns, and flame throwers vied for the tourists’ dollars and attention. The horizon melted into a pool of orange, pink, and swirls of bright white. Sunset, a phenomenon that was largely ignored in most parts of the world, was celebrated here as the miracle that it was. Too bad they weren’t alone to share it. But the moment did not lose its magic. The blended colors of sunset formed a halo around her head. Everything and everyone had disappeared. They were alone, as he’d wanted.

“I might do it,” he whispered.

She gazed up at him, waiting for more.

“Buy a villa, fill it with artist friends, pick up where Bishop, Hemingway, and Williams left off. But do it right. No drama, no addictions. Nothing to weigh me down.”

Her large brown eyes devoured him. He could slip inside that gaze and stay there forever.

“Aren’t you a city kid?” she asked.

“I like it here.”

Finally, he’d said it. No qualifier. The simple truth: He liked it here and didn’t want to leave.

“You’d stay here despite all we’ve been through? The ghost in the garden, the message in your journal, Hemingway’s cats . . . all of it?”

“Cats aside, my answer is yes.”

Small lines of worry creased the outer corners of her eyes. He cupped her face and eased them away with his thumbs. How could he explain that he could never make plans without her?

“I’d keep an apartment in the city but come down here to write. I’ve been feeling adrift for so long.”

“I’m familiar with that feeling,” she said.

“What about your new apartment?” he asked. “Don’t you feel settled there?”

“It’s too new for me to love.”

“Give it time,” he said. “You’ll grow into it.”

“I hope so,” she said. “That’s why I bought it, to solve the problem of feeling that I don’t belong anywhere. But I don’t think it worked. The fire gave me a timely excuse to leave. Though not all of us can afford a villa in Key West.”

“We could split our time between your apartment and my villa,” he suggested.

“Leo!” she cried. “We’re not yet a couple. This has just started. We’ve been lovers a single day. Isn’t it too soon to make these sorts of plans?”

“Add ten years of longing to that one day,” he said. “I knew we had something the night we met. I felt it, but I was too dumb and distracted to act. None of that matters, because the timing was wrong. You had too much on your plate—your mother was in the hospital and her health was deteriorating. And I was so angry with my parents, that anger always simmering under the surface, it would’ve poisoned any chance we had. That night it bubbled up. It couldn’t be helped. I’ve beaten myself up about this, and now I know—our time is now.”

She turned away from him and lost her gaze in the sunset. “This must be what love looks like.”

“This is what it feels like, too,” he said. “I’m in love with you, July Jones. I’ve been in love with you for ten years and a day.”

When she finally glanced up at him, her face was a kaleidoscope of emotion, ranging from fear to wild hope, a display more layered and nuanced than the sunset. “I knew you’d try to rope me into a happily-ever-after,” she said finally, laughing through a burst of tears.

She hadn’t wanted a sweet and syrupy ending, yet here they were, kissing by the ocean at sunset. “You can’t hate me for trying,” he said.

“I don’t hate you,” she said. “Who knows? I may love you, too.”

“Then marry me.”