Page 103 of Go Back to December

The feeble horn of a golf cart squawks. At the end of the line of traffic piling up on the street, Baz’s parents wave frantically. The buoyancy of their gestures suggest they are ecstatic to see him.

“I’ll tell them Mel’s here.” Luiza throws us a smirk as she darts to the road.

“Baz.” I tug on the lapels of my favorite coat and get distracted by how fucking amazing it feels to run my hands over that fabric, with him underneath.

A smile plays on his lips. “You look a bit lost, Ground Control.”

I wish I didn’t have to ruin this moment with the other news I’ve come to deliver. “There’s something I have to tell you. About the merger—”

He puts a gloved hand over my mouth. “Stop talking about work.”

I push it away. “It’s important. It affects both of us.”

“Is that the real reason you’re here?”

His eyes are guarded again, and I can’t stand that I’m the reason for it. “I came to apologize.”

He exhales a strangled sort of Oh.

“It was cowardly of me to leave without a word. We got into a bad habit, you and I, of hitting and retreating, and I forget sometimes that you’re not impenetrable. In my effort to protect my own hide, I didn’t consider that I might have hurt you. And if I did, Baz, I am so sorry.”

The slow nod of his head makes some of the tension loosen from my shoulders.

“Melody!”

The Johnson golf cart pulls up in front of us. Sofia and Peter tumble out, all thermal jackets and mittens and hugs and yelling, I can’t believe you surprised us; thank God, he’s been impossible; we thought we were going to have to drag him by that coat; I paid a fortune to replace it.

And finally: It means so much that you’re here to help us honor Allie.

Baz leaves me to flail like a fish on a hook as he skirts over to the back seat of Sybil’s car and scoops out my overnight bag. With a sheepish grin, he hands it off to Peter, who places it in the golf club container at the back of the cart in a seamless, wordless choreography.

Luiza complains when she has to sit on top of the compartment where the golf clubs go. Baz slides an arm around my waist and tugs me onto the back seat of the cart. He pulls me onto his lap and roars at Luiza to squeeze in beside us.

“Everyone got hats and gloves?” Peter calls.

“Baz.” Sofia turns back. “Did you remember your thermal undies?”

He releases a vintage, exasperated sigh and buries his face in my neck.

Sofia starts the motor, but she can’t get it in gear until it finally lurches forward. Then Peter decides he should drive, so we stop our snail’s pace while they switch places, circling the cart like it’s a clown car.

“It is literally fifty feet away,” Baz rasps. His warm breath on my ear and the scratch of his stubble against my cheek makes everything south of my waist melt.

We finally make it down the hill and into the restaurant parking lot, where Peter leaves the cart in a numbered spot. As I shimmy off Baz’s lap, he clasps my waist.

“Come on, Major. We’re leaving the capsule.”

He cringes.

“I’ll be right beside you. So will your family. You’re not alone.”

Baz takes my gloved hands, and as he slides out, the top of his coat hangs open. I pull the lapels tighter to fasten the buttons.

He glances down, amused. “You really like this coat.”

“I love this coat.”

We follow his family across the small parking lot. Annabel meets them on the sidewalk at the far end. Peter takes Sofia’s hand and weaves it through his arm. She smiles at him, love in her eyes, a tremble in her chin as Annabel and Luiza flank them on either side.