Page 75 of Lessons in Lemonade

I’m proud of my garden. It’s a little high-maintenance, but I don’t mind.

As we approach the door, I notice there aren’t any other people around; it’s just us.

“Are you sure this is where we’re supposed to go?”

“Yep, positive.”

She ushers me in through the secret entrance, past a wrought iron door to a cobblestone pathway. My eyes are flooded by the sights and sounds of a gorgeous four-tiered fountain sitting off to one side with a bench next to it, manicured hedges around the perimeter that are designed to look like a maze, trellises arched over the walkways with blooming flowers, and the twinkle lights hanging inside a very romantic gazebo perfectly placed in the center.

In my bag, my phone dings with a social media notification, but I ignore it and stand there blinking. My eyes must be playing tricks on me, only they aren’t. Waiting on the steps, cast in a shimmering light, is Jack.

Chardonnay Shrimp Dip

THE CREAK OF the wrought iron gate is the giveaway that they have arrived. Immediately, my heart rate doubles, and I’m flooded with nerves prickling my hands, roiling in my stomach, and just making me jittery all over. It feels like it has been a lifetime since I’ve seen her, and my anxiety about this moment is a solid mixture of excitement and dread. There is the possibility that she doesn’t want to see me, even though her friends and mine all assure me that isn’t the case.

From my vantage point, I watch as she moves into the garden looking like the angel she is with her brown curly hair down around her shoulders and back, a short dress perfectly molded to her body, and tall shoes that make her legs look a mile long. One by one, she takes in all the details while I take in the details of her I’ve so greatly missed. Sheer delight spreads across her beautiful face as she moves to take in the lit-up gazebo, and then she sees me. The smile drops, she falters in her steps, and she stops walking, her hands flying up to cover her mouth. Moments pass as I continue to drink in the sight of her being so close to me after what feels like so long.

“Jack,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper, her eyes large with what could be shock or fear.

Behind her, there’s movement as Taylor slips out to leave us alone. I don’t even think Meg remembers she’s there, much less acknowledges it, all thoughts of anything else vanishing.

“Hi,” I say, my voice sounding more sturdy than I feel, and I slide my hands into the pockets of my slacks to wait and see how she reacts once the surprise has worn off. Yes, I chose to forgo my standard attire of jeans and dressed for the occasion in a black button-down and gray slacks. I don’t think she’s noticed, though; her eyes haven’t strayed far from mine.

Damn, she looks so good.

Beautiful. Just beautiful.

And then her face crumbles. “I’m sorry,” she says just before she starts to cry.

As she raises her hands a little higher to cover herself so she can’t be seen, panic shoots through me at her sudden distress. In just a few strides I’m down the steps, standing in front of her and wrapping her up in my arms. I didn’t expect her to cry, at least not like this. This isn’t like her at all.

“Please don’t cry.” I drop my head so my face is pressed into her hair. She smells so good, every muscle in me instantly soothed by just this one sensation.

Pushing up to her tiptoes, she presses herself closer like she’s trying to melt into me, and she buries her face in that sweet spot just under my chin and over my collarbone.

“I’m sorry, it’s just . . .” She lets out a strangled noise that vibrates into my skin, and my poor deprived heart thumps hard at the sound. My arms tighten even more around her.

“No, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I left like I did. I’m sorry I didn’t text you back the first time, and I’m sorry it took me so long to make my way back to you.” And I am—I am so, so sorry. I know I was caught up in how that last week I was here made me feel, but I didn’t really stop to consider her feelings and how I made her feel.

She leans back, her beautiful face tear-stained, and she shakes her head. “No, this is my fault. I never should have let you go. You were right the whole time, about me, about us, and I’m so sorry.”

More tears drop from her eyes, and with each one, she steals another piece of my soul. I pull her back against me, and she wraps her arms around me, holding on for dear life.

I read somewhere once that human touch can be stronger than any verbal or emotional contact, that physical touch can promote a sense of security and belonging in any relationship, and they weren’t wrong. Every time I touch her and she touches me, I feel like all is right in the world, feel we belong to each other. I can feel my blood pressure coming down and my heart rate slowing as it seeks to fall into sync with hers. It’s the best feeling, and I hold on a little tighter.

“You smell so good.” She breathes me in. “You feel so good.” She snuggles closer. “And I’m so happy you are here.” She lets out a deep, long-overdue sigh.

Not as happy as I am.

Mine.

My girl.

Next to us, Zeus whines. I had forgotten he was here, and just like me, he doesn’t like the distress that’s been rolling off of her.

Pulling back, Meg looks down and spots him. “Oh, hi, buddy.” She sinks to her knees to hug him and buries her face in his fur. “I missed you, too.”

He looks up at me and glares. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was pissed at me for keeping them apart for so long. Trust me, pal, I’m pissed at me, too.