Page 13 of The Summer Plans

Her head pokes out of the door. Slowly. Cautiously. “Do you have any aloe? I’m normally way more prepared, but the kids distracted me while I was packing. I thought I had some, but I must’ve left it on my bathroom counter at home.” She swallows as though the words are painful sliding down her throat.

My eyes fixate on her too-pink shoulders. Shit, that looks painful. “You really should have⁠—”

“Do not finish that sentence.”

“I got you.”

Something flashes in her eyes as though she’s holding back the emotions bubbling up inside her. I wish she’d give me some clue as to what she’s thinking. Why she’s so mad. Is it because I’m here? Is it because of what happened back in high school? Or something else? If I knew, I could help. Instead, she steps out from behind the door, resting a hand on her hip. “Do you? You’ve got me?” Disdain drips from her tone as she lifts an eyebrow in challenge.

I nod as I take her in. She’s wearing the tiniest sleep shorts and top, her nipples poking through the sheer fabric. I won’t survive a whole week with this woman. My dick can’t take it. This has to be karma. All those years I spent wishing I could see her naked, claim her as my own, and now I get to look but not touch. Well, not in the way I want to, anyway.

Words, fuckface. She asked you a question.

“I have aloe.”

She sighs deeply, a war of emotions on her face. It hurts seeing how reluctant she is to accept my help. But I need her to see that I’ve changed. It may have taken me a while to figure out what I wanted in life, but I’ve known since I was twelve that I wanted her. She’s been the one constant for me.

When she walks over to the bed, I take that as my cue to get the aloe, so I hustle into the kitchen and grab it. When I walk back into the room, she’s sitting on the edge of the bed.

“What’s that?” She nods at the jar in my hand.

Holding it up, I shake it so she can see. “It’s aloe.”

“It doesn’t look like aloe.”

“It’s homemade. There’s a planter on the porch with an aloe plant, and I mix it with a little coconut oil and keep it in the fridge. I can make more if you need it.”

“You made that?”

“Yeah. I’m a firefighter, I know how to treat all types of burns. I remember you used to burn easily in high school, and when you went down to the beach without sunscreen, I made some just in case you needed it.” I motion for her to turn around.

“That’s… nice. Why would you do that?” She frowns, her defenses going back up.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Scooping out some aloe into my palm, I dab it onto her shoulders.

“Cold.” She flinches.

I pause my movements as I look down. Big mistake. Her nipples are teasing me, poking through her thin tank top. “Sorry, do you want me to warm it in my hands first?”

“No, it’s okay. It feels good once you touch me… I mean, with the aloe. It just surprised me.”

I can’t handle the awkward tension that hangs between us as I carefully glide my hands along her skin. “I know it’s been a while and we haven’t talked since high school, but I want you to know that I never stopped thinking about you…” She’s quiet. Still. It almost seems like she’s holding her breath. So I tack on, “As a friend.”

“Friend.” The word sounds bitter in her mouth, like she can’t stand the taste of it, and I kick myself for fumbling the ball yet again.

“You were one of my best friends, before…” I trail off, unsure of how to finish that sentence.

Before I broke your heart? Before I chickened out and hooked up with the next girl I saw because my sister told me to leave you alone? Before I worried I’d lose the one family member I had left if I didn’t do what she said, even if it killed me and hurt you in the process?

“We don’t have to talk about this. In fact, we probably shouldn’t if we want to survive being around each other for a week.”

But I need you to know how sorry I am. That I fucked up and never meant to hurt you. And except for it giving me my daughter, I would take it all back and choose you. Instead of voicing any of that, I say, “Yeah. You’re probably right.”

Once I cover her back, arms, and shoulders, she turns around as I’m grabbing the lid to the mason jar.

“Could you put some on my face?” She blinks up at me. “Your hands are already sticky. I could do it, but then I’d have to wash my hands, and I’m exhausted and I don’t want to get out of this bed again.”

“I got you.” I place the back of my hand against her forehead. She doesn’t feel feverish, so my worries about heatstroke are calmed for the moment.