Page 7 of Restored Dreams

“What is that smell?” I blurt as I walk through the side entrance. Fragrant spices assault my nose, and my mouth instantly waters.

“Just a little something I whipped up,” Lily says, smiling sheepishly. She’s sitting on one of the stools by the kitchen island with a book in one hand and a fork in the other. She looks relaxed, and in her element as she props her elbow against the counter. The tension in her face from earlier seems washed clean. A vision flashes of her sitting in my kitchen but knowing how run-down it appears compared to this place, I scribble away the idea.

“Of course, you did. You cook for a living. It smells amazing.” Whatever she made looks heavenly and too healthy with lots of vegetables. Her smile lowers a little, and I sense I’ve said something wrong.

“Actually, I bake.” I’m about to say, same thing, when I notice her head lower. What did I say? I don’t move, and the tension trickles between us. Her fork pushes around her dinner.

“Would you like some?” Her head lifts, and her eyes soften as she asks, but I can’t read her. Damn it. Is she only being polite, or does she want me to stay? I rub my stomach, exaggerating the lie I’m about to spew.

“Thanks, but I’m full. I think I’ll head outside for a bit.” She smiles weakly in response, and I take a deep breath as I cross the living room, rushing for the glass doors leading to the deck. I can’t escape fast enough. I kick off my flip-flops as I hit the wooden planks, drudging through the cool evening sand until I reach midway between the back steps and the foamy white edge of the shore. Plopping into the sand, I cross my ankles, lift my knees, and rest my arms loosely around them. I stare at the waves softly lapping at the wet sand. A lick and a retreat. The imagery brings me comfort and agitation. An energy ripples under my skin, and I’d like to think I don’t recognize it, but I do.

When I first met Lily, I felt this way. It’s funny how time passes, yet you can be projected backward in an instant. A look. A glance. A scent. Something triggers you, and you fly into the past, dusting off a memory suddenly so crystal clear it overwhelms you. Lily shouldn’t have been in our shop way back when. I don’t even remember why she was there. She didn’t own a car that needed repairs, but there she was with miles of hair, a long, loose skirt, and a revealing tank top. She was too young for me, but my heart skipped a beat when she looked up at me all innocent and sultry. A subtle curve to her rosy lips and a shy dip of her lids. My dick jolts with the recalled vision, just as it did all those years ago.

“May I join you?” The softness of her voice invades the memory, and for a moment, I think I’ve projected the sound into my thoughts. Then I look over my shoulder to find her staring down at me with a beer and a hard lemonade pinched within her fingers. My breath hitches just as it did with the first sighting. My God, she’s even more beautiful with age. She’s lost a little of the roundness she had as a teenager. Her face is more angular. Not that she was ever flabby, but she’s just more fit.

“Of course,” I say. Letting my legs fall, I slide them forward in the sand and cross them again at the ankle. She hands me a beer.

“Heineken?” I hadn’t stocked the fridge. In fact, I still hadn’t even thought of groceries or pleasantries, like beer. A protein bar I found in my bag was the breakfast of champions this morning.

“I remember.” The quiet in those words hits me in the heart as she folds herself down to the sand. She’s wearing another athletic-style dress in a bright pattern. The top is cut like a bikini again. Damn if I don’t want to rub my nose through the crease between her breasts and then bite the peak of her nipple through the athletic fabric. Down boy, I warn.

“You remember my favorite beer?” The thought startles me. She simply nods, not looking at me as she takes a sip of her hard lemonade. I watch the roll of her throat as she swallows, and I swallow involuntarily, my mouth filling with moisture as I long to lean over and kiss under her jaw.

“Thanks.” I choke and cough to muddle the blunder. Her smile grows at my weak recovery. “It’s been a long time.” The comment sounds just as weak as my cough, so this time, I chuckle to cover my awkwardness.

She responds instantly, her voice somber as she says, “Almost twenty-two years actually.” The words sound hollow like when she spoke in the kitchen. As though I’m an idiot and I’m missing something. And I am. Her timing is accurate, however. Chopper is almost twenty-two, and his birth coincides with our distance.

“That’s a long time,” I repeat, keeping my eyes on the side of her face as she stares out at the darkening sky over the lulling waves.

“A long time,” she parrots with another one of her snorts, this one gentle and dismissive, and it’s my turn to take a heavy pull from my drink. Damn, this tastes good. As good as sitting next to her even if I don’t know her sounds or their meanings. I amend, sitting this close to her tops any taste, any flavor, any anything.

“So, besides Because Cupcakes, what else have you been up to?” My eyes close the second I ask, wincing as I feel the weight of the weak question. I open to find her looking at me, her brows pinching in question. “I know about the bake—”

“Are we really going to do this?” She cuts me off.

“Sure, why not?” I shrug. See? Idiot. Her head twists away, and I decide now is the time, like it or not, to spill my long overdue apology.

“I’m sorry.”

Her head pivots back in my direction, and her eyes open wide. “What are you sorry for?”

“Everything.” There’s no denying what I mean. I don’t think I need to lay out all the details, and an unspoken name falls between us like a cement wall. The air shifts from summer breeze to winter blizzard. She nods a few times, turning her head away from me again, and my gut twists. “I never meant to—”

“You didn’t do anything,” she interjects again.

“The fuck I didn’t.” It’s my turn to snort, sharp and disgruntled. I did everything to ruin our relationship without ever intending to kill it.

“Fuck is what you did.” The statement takes my breath, knocking the wind out of me until she giggles, and I chuckle with mild relief. We shouldn’t be laughing, but the weight on my shoulders gets a chip lighter.

“I never meant to,” I say again, and I didn’t.

One night.

A few too many drinks.

And the wrong sister.

It was the biggest mistake of my life. Epic. Colossal. Unthinkable. I’ve hated myself ever since, but eventually, I had to forgive myself because it gave me Chopper. That’s right, adding insult to injury, the result of my misguided indiscretion gave me a child. I couldn’t—wouldn’t—trade him; I just wish I could forget the circumstances of it happening.