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He’s right. He does know me. I may not have seen him for many years, but I feel like no time has passed at all. “That summer, after your dad died…”
His brow furrows but he says nothing.
“…and you didn’t come back to the lake…” I stop to clear my throat. “I put the card deck and your Monopoly piece in my memory box.”
“Why did you do that?” he whispers.
This time, it’s me who shrugs. “I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again.”
I reach into my memory box and pull out his favorite Monopoly piece. I hold it up so he can see it in my palm. He always wanted to use the man on the horse. I always picked the iron.
“You put my piece away?” he says quietly.
“I didn’t want to play with anybody else.” I curl my hand around the game piece and hold it tightly for a moment. Then I return it to my box. I’m not ready to let it go yet. “I still don’t.”
Suddenly, he reaches for me, pulling me tight against him. His arms wrap around me and he squeezes me hard. I wrap my arms around his trim waist and hold on as tight as he is. “Thank you,” he says.
“For what?” This time, I’m the one who’s confused.
“For remembering who I used to be and not just judging me for who I am right now.” He squeezes me one last time and then sets me away from him.
My eyes are suddenly wet, and I blink hard to brush the tears away. “I liked who you were then, and I like who you are now.” I shake my head. “You’re still the same person, Ethan, even if you don’t feel like it.” I lay my hand on his arm. “You feel exactly the same to me.” I gently tickle his abs. “Except now you got this washboard stomach, my God!” I laugh as he tries to wiggle away from my fingers. “No, stop! I’ve been wanting to touch them for so long!” I’m teasing. Sort of. They really are a thing of wonder.
He grabs my hand, laughing as he shoves my probing fingers away. “Stop it,” he complains, but I can tell he doesn’t mean it. “You make me feel cheap.” He sniffs like I’ve wounded him, but his eyes are dancing with playfulness.
“You want to have a sleepover?” I ask. I do his eye closing thing and stare at him through my left one.
“A sleepover?” He motions from me to him and back. “Me and you?”
“I don’t see anybody else,” I toss back.
He grins. “Are you going to molest me?”
I shake my head. I’m still waiting for those test results, after all. “I don’t plan to, but if I get a little handsy in my sleep, you can’t blame me for it.”
“If you don’t get a little handsy in your sleep,” he says close to my ear, “then I’m going to be pretty damn disappointed.” His voice isn’t much more than a purr, and if I wasn’t sick, I’m sure it would have shot straight to my toes. He kisses my cheek. “I will have to go check on Wilbur, though. I’m afraid he’ll go to the tent and I won’t be there.”
I grin. “He can sleepover here, too.”
He narrows his eyes as he stares at me. “Are you sure? He’s not housebroken.”
Wilbur is important to Ethan, and Ethan is important to me. “I’m sure,” I say. I grab the UNO cards and go to the bed. After two hands, I can’t keep my eyes open any more.
Ethan reads a book next to me, after he finds one of my books on the nightstand and cracks it open. It’s a romance novel that immediately enthralls him. When I ask him about it, he replies with a flippant, “Real men read romance.” Then he dives right back into the book. Around midnight, he goes to his tent and comes back with a quacking duck who follows him right into the house, complaining all the while.
“Apparently, he was pissed that I wasn’t there when he finally came home. He’s been talking shit ever since I walked up to the tent.” Ethan makes a small nest of blankets for him next to the bed, and the duck settles in, curling into a ball.
Then Ethan goes and takes a quick shower, and he comes out wearing a pair of boxers and an old threadbare t-shirt. He gets in between the covers and I lean over him to look at Wilbur, who is sleeping soundly, totally trusting his new surroundings.
&nbs
p; “Do you think he loves her yet?” I ask.
He doesn’t look at me, but he does freeze. I feel his body tense. Then he relaxes and lets out a deep breath. He smiles at me. “If he doesn’t yet, I’m pretty sure he’s almost there.”
My heart surges and every hair on my arms stands tall. Because I’m feeling exactly the same. “She’s a lucky duck,” I say quietly. Then I burrow into his side, lift his shirt, and lay my palm on his abs. I tickle him lightly, which makes him laugh and grab for my hands.
“Behave,” he says. But he’s smiling. He flattens my palm and presses it against his naked skin. “If you can behave yourself, I’ll let you stay there.”
