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Love Always and Forever,
Your Shy Girl.
Holding the photo in my hand, I zero in on her face and I stumble back, hit with nostalgia and a realization. The photo is of our first date ten years ago. I finally got up the nerve to talk to her and asked to walk her home. By the time we made it to her door, she had agreed to go to the movies with me.
My mom drove me to pick her up that night and of course her mother couldn’t let us leave without commemorating the moment with a picture or two or ten. I remember being nervous as hell that I would screw it up and my shy, dream girl wouldn’t want to go on another date with me. In this photo, my lips are leaning against her forehead with my eyes closed, thanking the stars she said yes. She looked up at me like I hung the moon. In this picture, her feelings are so open and honest as are mine. I can read the possessiveness in my body language, and nothing has changed. From that first walk home she has belonged to me, and I have been protective and a bit of a beast as she calls me.
Putting the photo in my pocket, I put the popcorn in the microwave and as the smell of white kernels fills the kitchen, my mind starts going over everything and I wonder if she got my gift. As my mind starts wondering if she liked it, I get a text from my sister with a picture .
Lara: Bingo, big brother.
The photo shows it was forwarded from her mom to my mom who forwarded it to my sister. Small towns. She has her hand to her mouth, and I find myself getting antsy, wishing I could see more of her face. Is she smiling? Is she laughing? Is she emotional? I am pacing back and forth, unsure of my next move and I hate it. The old me, who never doubted what we had, would run to her right now and take her in my arms and make her remember. But something is telling me maybe we need these moments of silence to find our way to one another again.
Knock. Knock.
I am a fucking mess. Like a high school girl my body jumps and my heart leaps. Could it be her?
I collect myself and walk to the door. When I open it to Larson’s smiling face holding a cup of coffee and I grimace. “Good morning to you too, buddy.” he says, walking in. “Is this what you are wearing?” He looks at my sweats and Henley and raises his eyebrow.
“What should I be wearing for my day off to lounge around the house?” He looks at me confused.
“Did you forget?”
“Forget what?” I genuinely have no clue what the hell he is talking about.
“Man. She really has your head messed up.” He says shaking his head like I am lost cause.
“Listen, when your woman comes back into town, carrying a bundle underneath her clothes that she forgot to tell you about when she ran from you in the first place, then mock me. Until then, screw you.” I find my chest heaving; his comment hits a trigger. Everything is magnified right now as the pain comes in waves, mixed with confusion and need. Looking sheepish, he runs his hands through his hair.
“You’re right, Mark. I’m sorry. I can’t imagine how you feel right now. Listen, let’s start over. I came to pick you up because you agreed to volunteer at the frozen hot chocolate booth for the festival today and I am doing the sweethearts booth.” Shit. I totally forgot, considering I didn’t actually volunteer, more like my mom signed me up.
“Hell. Yeah. Let me change.” A pep talk and a change of clothes later, Larson and I are walking down Cupid’s Cove Way headed toward the center of town. We are barely to the start of the festival before someone comes running over with garland made of lips wrapping it around my neck. Yeah. This town is nuts, but it’s home. Looking around, I note they have outdone themselves this year. To the left, I see the Sweets sisters setting up their booth which consists of a delicious mixture of their businesses, chocolate, candy and ice cream.
To my right, I see Pascal St. Jerome…he is not from here if you can’t tell. He is the resident artist and owns the gallery in town. Seems he is doing sweetheart drawings of couples who stop at his booth. Larson nudges me and inclines his head in front of us. My feet stop as I take in the object of my love, affection and desire at the Welcome Center booth talking to Gabby Mason. The sun shines behind her as she smiles effortlessly, her hands anchoring her shirt to her stomach. Something visceral passes through me seeing the evidence of my claim on her. Knowing that all the tourists, the men who don’t know our history can visibly see she is taken even though we are miles apart right this second.
